“Most people are honest.”
“That’s it!” The boy’s tone was deeply earnest. “Here is a city filled for the most part by honest folks. Yet it is ridden by crooked politicians and grafters; it is in the grip of the criminal element. This grip cannot, or at least has not been shaken.
“Do you know what I believe, Johnny Thompson?” He gripped Johnny’s arm. “I believe that this world was made for good, honest, generous, clean-minded people to live in, and that when it has become impossible for such people to live without being poisoned by moonshine, robbed by grafters or shot by holdup men, it is time for some of those who are honest and good and clean to die that their city may be made right again.”
“So that was it,” thought Johnny. “A sermon.
“Mighty impressive one, at least. And I believe he is sincere.”
“That’s all right,” Johnny replied a moment later, thinking things out as he went along. “It’s well enough to take a sporting chance, to join hands with those who endeavor to enforce the law, to help them try to work the thing out.
“But just to throw yourself in the face of certain death—if that’s what you mean—”
“I mean just that.”
“Well, then,” Johnny drawled, “all I have to say is, life is mighty sweet to me. I like to see the sunrise over the water in some deep-shaded bay, to see it set amid the golden glory of the clouds, to see the stars come out one by one.
“I love music the best of all. I like to hear children sing and see them go skipping over the grass.