It is interesting, wonderfully interesting—­the miracles which party-politics can do with a man’s mental and moral make-up.  Look at McKinley, Roosevelt, and yourself:  in private life spotless in character; honorable, honest, just, humane, generous; scorning trickeries, treacheries, suppressions of the truth, mistranslations of the meanings of facts, the filching of credit earned by another, the condoning of crime, the glorifying of base acts:  in public political life the reverse of all this.

McKinley was a silverite—­you concealed it.  Roosevelt was a silverite —­you concealed it.  Parker was a silverite—­you publish it.  Along with a shudder and a warning:  “He was unsafe then.  Is he any safer now?”

Joe, even I could be guilty of such a thing as that—­if I were in party-politics; I really believe it.

Mr. Cleveland gave the country the gold standard; by implication you credit the matter to the Republican party.

By implication you prove the whole annual pension-scoop, concealing the fact that the bulk of the money goes to people who in no way deserve it.  You imply that all the batteners upon this bribery-fund are Republicans.  An indiscreet confession, since about half of them must have been Democrats before they were bought.

You as good as praise Order 78.  It is true you do not shout, and you do not linger, you only whisper and skip—­still, what little you do in the matter is complimentary to the crime.

It means, if it means anything, that our outlying properties will all be given up by the Democrats, and our flag hauled down.  All of them?  Not only the properties stolen by Mr. McKinley and Mr. Roosevelt, but the properties honestly acquired?  Joe, did you believe that hardy statement when you made it?  Yet you made it, and there it stands in permanent print.  Now what moral law would suffer if we should give up the stolen ones?  But—­

“You know our standard-bearer.  He will maintain all that we have gained”—­by whatever process.  Land, I believe you!

By George, Joe, you are as handy at the game as if you had been in training for it all your life.  Your campaign Address is built from the ground up upon the oldest and best models.  There isn’t a paragraph in it whose facts or morals will wash—­not even a sentence, I believe.

But you will soon be out of this.  You didn’t want to do it—­that is sufficiently apparent, thanks be!—­but you couldn’t well get out of it.  In a few days you will be out of it, and then you can fumigate yourself and take up your legitimate work again and resume your clean and wholesome private character once more and be happy—­and useful.

I know I ought to hand you some guff, now, as propitiation and apology for these reproaches, but on the whole I believe I won’t.

I have inquired, and find that Mitsikuri does not arrive here until
to-morrow night.  I shall watch out, and telephone again, for I greatly
want to see him. 
                    Always Yours,
                                   mark.