“I suspect not, Mr. Beecher,” said she, slyly.
“Why did you laugh, then?”
“Shall I tell you? It was just this, then, passing in my mind. I was wondering within myself whether the habit of reducing all men's motives to the standard of morality observable in the 'ring' more often lead to mistakes, or the contrary.”
“I sincerely trust that it rarely comes right,” broke in Conway. “I was close upon four years on the turf, as they call it; and if I had n't been ruined in time, I 'd have ended by believing that an honest man was as great a myth as anything we read of amongst the heathen gods.”
“That all depends upon what you call honest,” said Beecher.
“To be sure it does; you 're right there,” chimed in Kellett; and Beecher, thus seconded, went on,—
“Now, I call a fellow honest when he won't put his pal into a hole; when he 'll tell him whenever he has got a good thing, and let him have his share; when he'll warn him against a dark lot, and not let him 'in' to oblige any one,—that's honesty.”
“Well, perhaps it is,” said Conway, laughing. “The Russians said it was mercy t' other day, when they went about shooting the wounded. There's no accounting for the way men are pleased to see things.”
“I 'd like to have your definition of honesty,” said Beecher, slightly piqued by the last remark.
“How can you expect me to give you one? Have I not just told you I was for more than three years on the turf, had a racing stable, and dealt with trainers and jocks?” He paused for a second or two, and then, in a stronger voice, went on: “I cannot believe that the society of common soldiers is a very high standard by which to measure either manners or motives; and yet I pledge my word to it, that my comrades, in comparison with my old companions of the turf, were unexceptionable gentlemen. I mean that, in all that regards truthfulness, fair dealing, and honorable intercourse, it would be insult to compare them.”