“Vancouver has a right to his political opinions, and a perfect right to express them in any way he sees fit,” said John.
“Oh, of course,” said Joe, impatiently. “This is a free country, and that sort of thing. But if he means to express political opinions he should not cry aloud at every tea-party in town that he is neutral and takes no active part in politics. I think that writing violent articles in a newspaper is a very active part indeed. And he should not go about saying that he has the highest reverence for a man, and then call him a lunatic and a charlatan in print, unless he is willing to sign his name to it, and take the consequences. Should he? I think it is vile, and horrid, and abominable, and nasty, and I hate him.”
“With the exception of the peroration to that speech,” said John, who was very much amused, “I am afraid I must agree with you. A man certainly ought not to do any of those things.”
“Then why do you defend him?” asked Joe, with flashing eyes.
“Because, on general principles, I do not think a man is so much worse than his fellows because he does things they would very likely do in his place. There are things done every day, all over the world, quite as bad as that, and no one takes much notice of them. Almost every businessman is trying to get the better of some other business man by fair means or foul.”
“You do not seem to have a very exalted idea of humanity,” said Joe.
“A large part of humanity is sick,” said John, “and it is as well to be prepared for the worst in any illness.”
“I wish you were not so tremendously calm, you know,” said Joe, looking thoughtfully into John’s face. “I am afraid it will injure you.”
“Why in the world should it injure me?” asked John, much astonished at the remark.
“I have a presentiment”–she checked herself suddenly. “I do not like to tell you,” she added.