“To those who drink the whiskey, possibly; certainly to those who sell it!” And he condensed for me the long story of the state dispensary, which in brief appeared to be that South Carolina had gone into the liquor business.  The profits were to pay for compulsory education; the liquor was to be pure; society and sobriety were to be advanced:  such had been the threefold promise, of which the threefold fulfillment was—­ defeat of the compulsory education bill, a political monopoly enriching favored distillers, “and lately,” said John, “a thoroughly democratic whiskey for the plain people.  Pay ten cents for a bottle of X, if you’re curious.  It may not poison you—­but the murders are coming up again.”

“What a delightful example of government ownership!” I exclaimed.

But John in Kings Port was not in the way of hearing that cure-all policy discussed, and I therefore explained it to him.  He did not seem to grasp my explanation.

“I don’t see how it would change anything,” he remarked, “beyond switching the stealing from one set of hands to another.”

I put on a face of concern.  “What?  You don’t believe in our patent American short-cuts?”

“Short-cuts?”

“Certainly.  Short-cuts to universal happiness, universal honesty, universal everything.  For instance:  Don’t make a boy study four years for a college degree; just cut the time in half, and you’ve got a short-cut to education.  Write it down that man is equal.  That settles it.  You’ll notice how equal he is at once.  Write it down that the negro shall vote.  You’ll observe how instantly he is fit for the suffrage.  Now they want it written down that government shall take all the wicked corporations, because then corruption will disappear from the face of the earth.  You’ll find the farmers presently having it written down that all hens must hatch their eggs in a week, and next, a league of earnest women will advocate a Constitutional amendment that men only shall bring forth children.  Oh, we Americans are very thorough!” And I laughed.

But John’s face was not gay.  “Well,” he mused, “South Carolina took a short-cut to pure liquor and sober citizens—­and reached instead a new den of thieves.  Is the whole country sick?”

“Sick to the marrow, my friend; but young and vigorous still.  A nation in its long life has many illnesses before the one it dies of.  But we shall need some strong medicine if we do not get well soon.”

“What kind?”

“Ah, that’s beyond any one!  And we have several things the matter with us—­as bad a case, for example, of complacency as I’ve met in history.  Complacency’s a very dangerous disease, seldom got rid of without the purge of a great calamity.  And worse, where does our dishonesty begin, and where end?  The boy goes to college, and there in football it awaits him; he graduates, and in the down-town office it smirks at him; he rises into the confidence of his superiors, the town’s