I have no doubt that they do. But,
for me, I confess that once and for all I am out of it.
I am left behind.
Add to it all such rising dangers as total prohibition,
and the female franchise, the daylight saving, and eugenic
marriage, together with proportional representation, the
initiative and the referendum, and the duty of the citizen
to take an intelligent interest in politics--and I admit
that I shall not be sorry to go away from here.
But before I _do_ go, I have one hope. I understand that
down in Hayti things are very different. Bull fights,
cock fights, dog fights, are openly permitted. Business
never begins till eleven in the morning. Everybody sleeps
after lunch, and the bars remain open all night. Marriage
is but a casual relation. In fact, the general condition
of morality, so they tell me, is lower in Hayti than it
has been anywhere since the time of Nero. Me for Hayti.
XIII. The Old, Old Story of How Five Men Went Fishing
This is a plain account of a fishing party. It is not a
story. There is no plot. Nothing happens in it and nobody
is hurt. The only point of this narrative is its peculiar
truth. It not only tells what happened to us--the five
people concerned in it--but what has happened and is
happening to all the other fishing parties that at the
season of the year, from Halifax to Idaho, go gliding
out on the unruffled surface of our Canadian and American
lakes in the still cool of early summer morning.
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