“Peter, you must have met a great many men in politics whom you knew to be dishonest?” said Mrs. D’Alloi.

“No.  I have known few men whom I could call dishonest.  But then I make a great distinction between the doer of a dishonest act and a dishonest man.”

“That is what the English call ‘a fine-spun’ distinction, I think,” said madame.

“I hope not.  A dishonest man I hold to be one who works steadily and persistently with bad means and motives.  But there are many men whose lives tell far more for good than for evil in the whole, yet who are not above doing wrong at moments or under certain circumstances.  This man will lie under given conditions Of temptations.  Another will bribe, if the inducement is strong enough.  A third will merely trick.  Almost every man has a weak spot somewhere.  Yet why let this one weakness—­a partial moral obliquity or imperfection—­make us cast him aside as useless and evil.  As soon say that man physically is spoiled, because he is near-sighted, lame or stupid.  If we had our choice between a new, bright, keen tool, or a worn, dull one, of poor material, we should not hesitate which to use.  But if we only have the latter, how foolish to refuse to employ it as we may, because we know there are in the world a few better ones.”

“Is not condoning a man’s sins, by failing to blame him, direct encouragement to them?” said Mrs. D’Alloi.

“One need not condone the sin.  My rule has been, in politics, or elsewhere, to fight dishonesty wherever I found it.  But I try to fight the act, not the man.  And if I find the evil doer beyond hope of correction, I do not antagonize the doer of it.  More can be done by amity and forbearance than by embittering and alienating.  Man is not bettered by being told that he is bad.  I had an alderman in here three or four days ago who was up to mischief.  I could have called him a scoundrel, without telling him untruth.  But I didn’t.  I told him what I thought was right, in a friendly way, and succeeded in straightening him out, so that he dropped his intention, yet went away my friend.  If I had quarrelled with him, we should have parted company, he would have done the wrong, I should have fought him when election time came—­and defeated him.  But he, and probably fifty of his adherents in the ward would have become my bitter enemies, and opposed everything I tried in the future.  If I quarrelled with enough such men, I should in time entirely lose my influence in the ward, or have it generally lessened.  But by dealing as a friend with him, I actually prevented his doing what he intended, and we shall continue to work together.  Of course a man can be so bad that this course is impossible, but they are as few in politics as they are elsewhere.”

“Taciturnity Stirling in his great circus feat of riding a whole ward at once,” said Watts.

“I don’t claim that I’m right,” said Peter.  “I once thought very differently.  I started out very hotly as a reformer when I began life.  But I have learned that humanity is not reformed with a club, and that if most people gave the energy they spend in reforming the world, or their friends, to reforming themselves, there would be no need of reformers.”