"Painful
affair this! What do you think of it, Mr. Scranton?" enquires a
member of the profession, touching his arm.
"It is the fruit of Marston's weakness, you see!-don't feel just
straight, I reckon. Didn't understand the philosophy of the law,
neither; and finds himself pinched up by a sort of humanity that
won't pass for a legal tender in business-"
"Ah! we cannot always look into the future," interrupts the
attorney.
Mr. Scranton holds that whatever is constitutional must be right and
abidable; that one's feelings never should joggle our better
understanding when these little curiosities come in the way. He
admits, however, that they are strange attendants coming up once in
a while, like the fluctuations of an occult science. With him, the
constitution gives an indisputable right to overlook every outrage
upon natural law; and, while it exists in full force, though it may
strip one half the human race of rights, he has no right to complain
so long as it does not interfere with him. It strikes Mr. Scranton
that people who differ with him in opinion must have been educated
under the teaching of a bad philosophy. Great governments, he holds,
often nurture the greatest errors. It matters not how much they feel
their magnitude; often, the more they do, the least inclined are
they to correct them. Others fear the constitutional structure so
much, that they stand trembling lest the slightest correction totter
it to the ground. Great governments, too, are most likely to stand
on small points when these errors are pointed out.
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