out the extent of my altruism, though I concede an omnipresent
consciousness of what is abstractly right and what is wrong.
Occasionally, but very rarely, I even blindly follow this instinct
irrespective of consequences.

There have been times when I have been genuinely self-sacrificing.
Indeed I should unhesitatingly die for my son, my daughters--and
probably for my wife. I have frequently suffered financial loss rather
than commit perjury or violate my sense of what is right. I have called
this sense an instinct, but I do not pretend to know what it is. Neither
can I explain its origin. If it is anything it is probably utilitarian;
but it does not go very far. I have manners rather than morals.

Fundamentally I am honest, because to be honest is one of the rules of
the game I play. If I were caught cheating I should not be allowed to
participate. Honesty from this point of view is so obviously the best
policy that I have never yet met a big man in business who was crooked.
Mind you, they were most of them pirates--frankly flying the black flag
and each trying to scuttle the other's ships; but their word was as good
as their bond and they played the game squarely, according to the rules.
Men of my class would no more stoop to petty dishonesties than they
would wear soiled linen. The word lie is not in their mutual language.
They may lie to the outside public--I do not deny that they do--but they
do not lie to each other.

There has got to be some basis on which they can do business with one
another--some stability. The spoils must be divided evenly. Good morals,
like good manners, are a necessity in our social relations. They are the
uncodified rules of conduct among gentlemen. Being uncodified, they are
exceedingly vague; and the court of Public Opinion that administers them
is apt to be not altogether impartial. It is a "respecter of persons."

One man can get away with things that another man will hang for. A Jean
Valjean will steal a banana and go to the Island, while some rich fellow
will put a bank in his pocket and everybody will treat it as a joke. A
popular man may get drunk and not be criticized for it; but the sour
chap who does the same thing is flung out of the club. There is little
justice in the arbitrary decisions of society at large.

In a word we exact a degree of morality from our fellowmen precisely in
proportion to its apparent importance to ourselves. It is a purely
practical and even a rather