"
"And your domestic affairs must include the tariff," Mr
Murchison went on. "There's no such possibility as a
tariff that will go round. And tariffs are kittle cattle
to shoo behind."
"Has anybody got a Scotch dictionary?" inquired Stella.
"This conversation is making me tired."
"Suppose you run away and play with your hoop," suggested
her brother. "I can't see that as an insuperable difficulty,
Father. Tariffs could be made adaptable, relative to the
common interest as well as to the individual one. We
could do it if we liked."
"Your adaptability might easily lead to other things.
What's to prevent retaliation among ourselves? There's
a slump in textiles, and the home Government is forced
to let in foreign wool cheaper. Up goes the Australian
tax on the output of every mill in Lancashire. The last
state of the Empire might be worse than the first."
"It wouldn't be serious. If I pinched Stella's leg as
I'm going to in a minute, she will no doubt kick me; and
her instincts are such that she will probably kick me
with the leg I pinched, but that won't prevent our going
to the football match together tomorrow and presenting
a united front to the world."
They all laughed, and Stella pulled down her lengthening
petticoats with an air of great offence, but John Murchison
shook his head.
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