harles I or a Louis XVI or a John
Barclay comes to harm, the traditions of the world are wrenched. Men
say: "How can these things be--if might makes right? Here is a case
where might and right conflict--how about it? Jails are for the poor,
not for the rich, because the poor are wrong and the rich are right,
and no just man made perfect by a million should be in jail."

And so while the members of the parliament in Watts McHurdie's shop
read and were disturbed at the strange twist of events, the whole
world was puzzled with them, and in unison with Jacob Dolan, half the
world spoke, "I see no difference in poisoning breakfast foods and
poisoning wells, and it's no odds to me whether a man pinches a few
ounces out of my flour sack, or steals my chickens."

And the other half of the world was replying with Colonel Culpepper,
"Oh, well, Jake, now that's all right for talk; but in the realms of
high finance men are often forced to be their own judges of right and
wrong, and circumstances that we do not appreciate, cannot understand,
in point of fact, nor comprehend, if I may say so, intervene, and make
what seems wrong in small transactions, trivial matters and
pinch-penny business, seem right in the high paths of commerce."

The general was too deeply interested in reading what purported to be
his son's testimony before Commissioner Smith, to break into the
discussion at this point, so Dolan answered, "From which I take it
that you think that Johnnie down at the mill keeps a private God in
his private car."

The colonel was silent for a time; he read a few lines and looked into
space a moment, and then replied in a gentle husky voice: "Jake, what
do we know about it? The more I think how every man differs from his
neighbour, and all our sins are the result of individual weakness at
the end of lonely struggles with lonely temptations--the more I think
maybe there is something in what you say, and that not only John but
each of us--each of us under this shining sun, sir--keeps his
private God."

"You'll have to break that news gently to the Pope," returned Dolan.
"I'll not try it. Right's right, Mart Culpepper, and wrong's wrong for
me and for Johnnie Barclay, white, black, brown, or yellow--'tis the
same."

"There's nothing in your theory, Mart," cut in the general, folding
his paper across his knee; "not a thing in the world. We're all parts
of a whole, and the only way this is an individual problem at
all--this wo