I am not going to talk about graft amongst the police because I don't know anything about it. But one hears very strange stories.
If the people ruled this country, instead of allowing their national trait of enthusiasm to rule them, I suppose it would be all right. As a matter of fact, things go along quite smoothly. The American folk are awfully good natured and never worry about anything in particular. Hence they don't mind if Broadway continues to suggest a particularly unpleasant line of trenches in Flanders. They don't mind if the telephone lines in a small town all collapse during a storm, not because of the fury of the elements, but because the telephone company has laid its wires carelessly and untidily.
An American young man sometimes does not even know the name of his congressman—he never reads what the said gentleman says before the House. He just doesn't care. He fails sometimes to realize his duty as a citizen of a very great nation whose men have died for the privilege of ruling their own country. When anyone expresses annoyance with a particularly bad road, he remarks: "These damn politicians!"
It is a pity in some ways. He builds his bridge. It will carry him and his family well. The next man finds it wanting, so he patches it. A concourse of persons passing over soon afterward all fall into the elements below. Someone else then arrives and builds another one just as flimsy, just as weak and just as beautiful to look upon as the first fellow's effort. And an American thinks he is "getting there."
These remarks, perhaps a little unfair, do not apply to the West or the Middle West.
And, of course, he does get there, but it all is owing to the great big background to his character which he inherits from his ancestors, and his natural efficiency allied to good health.
Of course, some will urge that this country is still a melting pot. That may be true, but as far as I can see the immigrant of the first generation has little influence. Great big things are ahead for this country, but the people will have to suffer a great deal first. I can see millions of young men returning from the war in Europe with an inquiring mind. These men will have realized the value, the effectiveness of discipline, and they will apply it to their servants, the gentlemen in Washington. The press will be the mouthpiece. The police will also be their servants, not their masters, and a cop will not have to worry about elections and rude remarks in the papers unless he deserves them.
The open air life, the freedom of the battlefield, the time supplied for reflection will mould the national character. Things will then change for hotel clerks, head waiters, and all the million other satellites, that prey upon the wonderful good nature and kindliness of our cousins.
Americans will also become a little more lazy and will realise that it profits a man nothing in this wonderful world if he gains five million dollars and gets a nervous breakdown. An American man never seems able to be elegantly lazy. I suppose it is the climate. Slow country life bores him to desperation; he cannot enjoy the supervision of a large estate until he has reached a great age.
Criticism is so easy. If my friends read this they would say: "Et tu Brute; are you so perfect?" I could only reply: "We are a good deal worse, but our confounded papers guard us a little and we do stand by our cops. Go thou and do likewise."