Part 35 (2/2)
”But what do you have laws and lawyers for?”
”To keep the rich out of jail. It's called 'professional etiquette.'”
”Your picture flatters!”
”You flatter me; it's only a photograph. Come North and see.”
”One might think, from your account, the American had rather be bad than good.”
”O dear, no! The American had much rather be good than bad!”
”Your admission amazes me!”
”But also the American had rather be rich than good. And he is having his wish. And money's golden hand is tightening on the throat of liberty while the labor union stabs liberty in the back--for trusts and unions are both trying to kill liberty. And the soul of Uncle Sam has turned into a dollar-inside his great, big, strong, triumphant flesh; so that even his new religion, his own special invention, his last offering to the creeds of the world, his gatherer of converted hordes, his Christian Science, is based upon physical benefit.”
John touched the horses. ”You're particularly cheerful to-day!”
”No. I merely summarize what I'm seeing.”
”Well, a moral awakening will come,” he declared.
”Inevitably. To-morrow, perhaps. The flesh has had a good, long, prosperous day, and the hour of the spirit must be near striking. And the moral awakening will be followed by a moral slumber, since, in the uncomprehended scheme of things, slumber seems necessary; and you needn't pull so long a face, Mr. Mayrant, because the slumber will be followed by another moral awakening. The alcoholic society girl you don't like will very probably give birth to a water-drinking daughter--who in her turn may produce a bibulous progeny: how often must I tell you that nothing is final?”
John Mayrant gave the horses a somewhat vicious lash after these last words of mine; and, as he made no retort to them, we journeyed some little distance in silence through the mild, enchanting light of the sun. My deliberate allusion to alcoholic girls had made plain what I had begun to suspect. I could now discern that his cloak of gayety had fallen from him, leaving bare the same hara.s.sed spirit, the same restless mood, which had been his upon the last occasion when we had talked at length together upon some of the present social and political phases of our republic--that day of the New Bridge and the advent of Hortense. Only, upon that day, he had by his manner in some subtle fas.h.i.+on conveyed to me a greater security in my discretion than I felt him now to entertain. His many observations about the Replacers, with always the significant and conspicuous omission of Hortense, proved more and more, as I thought it over, that his state was unsteady. Even now, he did not long endure silence between us; yet the eagerness which he threw into our discussions did not, it seemed to me, so much proceed from present interest in their subjects (though interest there was at times) as from anxiety lest one particular subject, ever present with him, should creep in unawares. So much I, at any rate, concluded, and bided my time for the creeping in unawares, content meanwhile to parry some of the reproaches which he now and again cast at me with an earnestness real or feigned.
We had made now considerable progress, and were come to a s.p.a.ce of sand and cabins and intersecting railroad tracks, where freight cars and locomotives stood, and negroes of all shapes, but of one lowering and ragged appearance, lounged and stared.
”There used to be a murder here about once a day,” said John, ”before the dispensary system. Now, it is about once a week.”
”That law is of benefit, then?” I inquired.
”To those who drink the whiskey, possibly; certainly to those who sell it!” And he condensed for me the long story of the state dispensary, which in brief appeared to be that South Carolina had gone into the liquor business. The profits were to pay for compulsory education; the liquor was to be pure; society and sobriety were to be advanced: such had been the threefold promise, of which the threefold fulfillment was--defeat of the compulsory education bill, a political monopoly enriching favored distillers, ”and lately,” said John, ”a thoroughly democratic whiskey for the plain people. Pay ten cents for a bottle of X, if you're curious. It may not poison you--but the murders are coming up again.”
”What a delightful example of government owners.h.i.+p!” I exclaimed.
But John in Kings Port was not in the way of hearing that cure-all policy discussed, and I therefore explained it to him. He did not seem to grasp my explanation.
”I don't see how it would change anything,” he remarked, ”beyond switching the stealing from one set of hands to another.”
I put on a face of concern. ”What? You don't believe in our patent American short-cuts?”
”Short-cuts?”
”Certainly. Short-cuts to universal happiness, universal honesty, universal everything. For instance: Don't make a boy study four years for a college degree; just cut the time in half, and you've got a short-cut to education. Write it down that man is equal. That settles it. You'll notice how equal he is at once. Write it down that the negro shall vote. You'll observe how instantly he is fit for the suffrage.
Now they want it written down that government shall take all the wicked corporations, because then corruption will disappear from the face of the earth. You'll find the farmers presently having it written down that all hens must hatch their eggs in a week, and next, a league of earnest women will advocate a Const.i.tutional amendment that men only shall bring forth children. Oh, we Americans are very thorough!” And I laughed.
But John's face was not gay. ”Well,” he mused, ”South Carolina took a short-cut to pure liquor and sober citizens--and reached instead a new den of thieves. Is the whole country sick?”
”Sick to the marrow, my friend; but young and vigorous still. A nation in its long life has many illnesses before the one it dies of. But we shall need some strong medicine if we do not get well soon.”
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