"You condemn the plan without trial," Master continued. "Anyhow, if an owner wants his value at once, let us have a law under which he can transfer his timber-land to the State on a fair appraisal."
"The State wouldn't pay us half we can make by cutting it."
"Probably not, but you'd have your time and capital for other uses. Then, too, you should think of the public good. You're rich enough."
"But not fool enough," said young Mr. Migley, in a loud voice.
The train stopped to take water, and those near were now turned to listen.
"I thought you were ambitious to be a public servant," said Master, calmly.
"But not as a professor of moral philosophy." This declaration of the young candidate was greeted with laughter.
"And, of course, not as a professor of moral turpitude," said the woods lover. "The public is not to be wholly forgotten."
"I'm for my part of the public, first, last, and always," young Migley answered.
It is notable that lawless feeling—especially after it has passed from sire to son—some day loses the shame which has covered and kept it from insufferable offence. Two or three citizens who sat near began to whisper and shake their heads. One of them spoke out loudly and indignantly; "His part of the public is mostly himself. He is trying to buy his way into the Assembly, and I hope he'll fail."