“What a terrible person you are!” said Vancouver, smiling pleasantly. “Well, then, now that you have proved every word of Harrington’s speech out of an opponent’s evidence, I will tell you frankly how it is that I do not agree with him. He is a Democrat, I am a Republican. That is the whole story. I do not believe, nor shall I ever believe, that any large number of the two parties can work together. I cannot help my belief in the least; it is a matter of conscience. Nevertheless, I have a very great respect for Harrington, and as I take no active part whatever in any political contest, my opinion of his politics will never interfere with my personal feeling for him.”
Frankness seemed to be Mr. Vancouver’s strong point. Joe was obliged to admit that he spoke clearly, even if she did not greatly respect his logic. During all this time, Miss Schenectady had been sipping her tea in silence.
“Joe,” she said at last, “you are a perfect Socrates for questions. You ought to have been a lawyer.”
“I wish I were,” said Joe, laughing, “or Socrates himself.”
“Yes, you ought to have been. Here you know nothing at all about this thing, and you have been talking like anything for half an hour. I think Socrates was perfectly horrid.”
“So do I,” said Vancouver, laughing aloud.
“Why?” Joe asked, turning to her aunt.
“To be always stopping people in the street, and button-holing them with his questions. Of course it was very clever, as Plato makes it out; but I do wish he could have met me–when I was young, my dear. I would have answered him once and for all!”
“Try me, Aunt Zoë, for practice,” said Joe, “until you meet him.”
“Really, I expect you would do almost as well. Look at Mr. Vancouver, he is quite used up.”