Doane, Connors, Salmon and Wayland were all members of the Union League Club, and spent much of their time amid its comfortable, enticing environments. There is a common opinion prevalent, particularly in New York, that a society man may as well be dead as not to hold membership in at least one of the fashionable clubs. You can eat there, receive the billet doux of your lady friends, and if you want to gamble you can be accommodated at any limit of the game. If you are convivially inclined you can there get on a decent drunk, and perfect care will be taken that you do not fall into the hands of the police. In fact the club is a great protection to married as well as single men. Many a husband, who likes a quiet time apart from domestic influences, has had his shortcomings covered by the club. This sort of thing is not for the poor man. He takes his drink in the groggery, and woe betide him if he should stagger on the public highway. Doane, the editor, and Salmon, the lawyer, both sharp witted, were seated in one of the private rooms of the Union League. It was shortly after Salmon, apart from his usual custom in the profession, had been victorious in a celebrated murder trial. “I congratulate you on your acquittal of Wilcox,” said Doane. “A hard case,” remarked Salmon. “He was convicted once, actually sat in the electric death chair, but I got a new hearing, secured a second trial, and now the accused is as free as you or I.” “A clever victory for you, but bad for society. The way murderers are freed now only encourages desperate deeds. There would be more respect for law if there were fewer lawyers,” said the editor. “Perhaps it would be better,” said Salmon, “if we permitted the newspapers to administer justice.” “How so?” said Doane, ignoring the covert sarcasm of his friend. “I will illustrate,” said the lawyer: “About a year ago, in this city, a man was hacked to pieces. With him lived a Polish immigrant. He knew but little of the language or customs of the country. A sensational newspaper put its blood-hound-detective-reporters on the trail. They convicted Skinoski, only to find a few months later, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that a slight mistake had been made, and after all they had electrocuted the wrong man.” “Yes, a little error of that kind will occur, you know,” said Doane, unfeelingly, “but then it only removed another of these filthy, foreign paupers. We have too many of these cattle on hand now. Not that I have any very great respect for the native toiler.” “What is your objection to him?” said Salmon. “I like the laboring man well enough in his way,” said Doane, “but I wish he would take a bath once in a while. There is too little sweat on his brow and too much on his hands to suit me.” “Yet your paper parades the fact,” said Salmon, “that it fights his battles.”