“Do you know,” he said, “there are times when I regret it all very much? I never told any one so before–perhaps I was never so sure of it as I have been since this affair.”
“What is it that you regret so much?” asked Joe, softly. “It is a noble life.”
“It is, indeed, if only a man knows how to live it,” answered John. “But sometimes I think I do not. You once said a very true thing to me about it all. Do you remember?”
“No; what was it?”
“You said I should not succeed because I am not enough of a partisan, and because every one is a partisan here.”
“Did I? Yes, I remember saying it,” answered Joe, secretly pleased that he should not have forgotten it. “I do not think it is so very true, after all. It is true to-day; but it is for men like you to set things right, to make partisanship a thing of the past. Men ought to make laws because they are just and necessary, not in order that they may profit by them at the expense of the rest of the world. And to have such good laws men ought to choose good men to represent them.”
“There is no denying the truth of that,” said John. “That is the way to construct the ideal republic. It would be the way to do a great many ideal things. You need only persuade humanity to do right, and humanity will do it. Verily, it is an easy task!” He laughed, a little bitterly.
“It is not like you to laugh in that way,” said Joe, gravely.
“No; to tell the truth, I am not overmuch inclined to laugh at anything to-day, excepting myself, and I dare say there are plenty of people who will do that for me without the asking. They will have no chance when I am gone.”
Joe started slightly.