Of course Great Britain, badgered by the Australians, had to have some say in matters, and Germany was so complacent and ready to agree to anything and everything as set forth in the Agreement or Treaty, or whatever it was that the two Great Powers signed. Oh! of course all British rights would be respected; of course there would always be the open door for her—dear friend and cousin—and her subjects would always enjoy every right and liberty in trading or otherwise in common with the subjects of the Fatherland, so long, of course, as they obeyed German Laws. So little more was heard of the matter then—or now—Australia was busy, Great Britain indifferent, and, after all, they were only Germans, and no doubt would eat cocoanuts and play in musical bands happily for evermore; and then, of course, the cannibals would kill and eat them all off, so all would be right and eventually everything would be ours. So said indifferent Britons.
Now and again came stories of murders by natives, and vague paragraphs appeared in the Australasian, the Sydney Morning Herald, or the Bulletin or something—but few heeded or cared. Australia smiled, and her smile was just a sort of smile you know—any sort—and " They're eating up all the Germans in New Guinea," she said.
In Sydney a few eyebrows went up. "Going to New Guinea? What a strange idea!"—some one remonstrated with me. " They'll eat you, or you will die of fever," said to me kind old Mr. Studholme, one of the "Canterbury Pilgrims" who founded Canterbury in New Zealand. I looked at myself in the mirror and said I thought I was safe—I did not look appetising at all. Mrs. Studholme, who was buying up all the curious opals
