The Case of the Sad Luck Dame (A Huey Dusk Caper Book 2)

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There are conditions that neither political nor social laws reach, there are none not reached by physical law; in society, criminals sometimes evade the law; in nature, never. So subtle are the laws of nature, that even thought cannot follow them; when we see that every molecule, by virtue of its own hidden force, attracts every other molecule, up to a certain point, and then from the same inherent influence every atom repels every other atom; when by experiments of physicists it has been proved that in polarization, crystallization, and chemical action, there is not the slightest deviation from an almost startling regularity, with many other facts of like import, how many natural laws do we feel to be yet unrevealed and, from the exquisite delicacy of their nature, unrevealable to our present coarse understanding.

It would be indeed strange, if, when all the universe is under the governance of fixed laws—laws which regulate the motion of every molecule, no less than the revolutions of suns—laws of such subtle import, as for instance, regulate the transformations of heat, the convertibility and correlation of force; it would be strange, I say, if such laws as these, when they reached the domain of human affairs should pause and leave the world of man alone in purposeless wanderings.

To continue our analogies. As, latent in the atom, or in the mass, there are energies releasable only by heat or friction,—as in charcoal, which holds, locked up, muriatic acid gas equivalent to ninety times its volume; or in spongy platinum, which holds in like manner oxygen, equal to eight hundred times its volume; so, latent in every individual, are numberless energies, which demand the friction of society to call them out. Force comprises two elements, attraction and repulsion, 15 analagous to the principles commonly called good and evil in the affairs of human society; take away from mechanical force either of these two oppugnant elements, and there could be neither organism nor life, so without both good and evil in human affairs there could be no progress.

If none of the forces of nature are dissipated or lost, and if force can no more be extinguished than matter, and like matter passes from one form into another, we may conclude that intellectual force is never dissipated or lost, but that the potential energies of mind and soul perpetually vibrate between man and nature.

Or, again, if, as we have seen, energy of every kind is clothed in matter, and when employed and expended returns again to its place in matter; and if the mind draws its forces from the body, as it appears to do, both growing, acting, and declining simultaneously; and if the body draws its energy from the earth, which is no less possible; then may not intellectual and progressional force be derived from man's environment, and return thither when expended? Every created being borrows its material from the storehouse of matter, and when uncreated restores it again; so every individual born into society becomes charged with social force, with progressional energy, which, when expended, rests with society.

Winslow's opinion on this subject is, that "all electric and magnetic currents originate in—are inducted from—and radiate either directly or indirectly out of the globe as the fountain of every form and constituency of mechanical force, and that abstract immaterial mechanical energy, as we have thus far discussed and developed its dual principles, is absolutely convertible through molecular motion into every form and expansion of secondary force, passing successively from heat through electricity, magnetism, etc.

Thus is loaded with potential energy the universe of 16 matter, generating life, mind, civilization, and hence we may conclude that whatever else it is, civilization is a force; that it is the sum of all the forces employed to drive humanity onward; that it acts on man as mechanical force acts on matter, attracting, repelling, pressing forward yet holding in equilibrium, and all under fixed and determined laws.

From all which it would appear that nothing is found in man that has not its counterpart in nature, and that all things that are related to man are related to each other; even immortal mind itself is not unlike that subtle force, inherent in, and working round every atom.

In this respect physical science is the precursor of social science. Nature produces man; man in his earlier conception of nature, that is in his gods, reproduces himself; and later, his knowledge of intrinsic self depends upon his knowledge of extrinsic agencies, so that as the laws that govern external nature are better understood, the laws that govern society are more definitely determined. The conditions of human progress can be wrought into a science only by pursuing the same course that raises into a science any branch of knowledge; that is, by collecting, classifying, and comparing facts, and therefrom discovering laws.

Society must be studied as chemistry is studied; it must be analyzed, and its component parts—the solubilities, interactions, and crystallizations of religions, governments and fashions, ascertained. As in the earlier contemplations of physical nature, the action of the elements was deemed fortuitous, so in a superficial survey of society, all events appear to happen by chance; but on deeper investigation, in society as in physics, events apparently fortuitous, may be reduced to immutable law. To this end the life of mankind on the globe must be regarded as the life of one man, successions of societies as successions of days in that life; for the activities of nations are but the sum of the activities of the individual members thereof.

We have seen that man's organism, as far as it may be brought under exact observation, is governed by the same processes that govern elemental principles in inorganic nature. The will of man attempting to exert itself in antagonism to these laws of nature is wholly ineffectual. We are all conscious of a will, conscious of a certain freedom in the exercise of our will, but wholly unconscious as to the line of separation between volition and environment. Part of our actions arise from fixed necessity, part are the result of free will.

Statistics, as they are accumulated and arranged, tend more and more to show that by far the greater part of human actions are not under individual control, and that the actions of masses are, in the main, wholly beyond the province of the human will. Take the weather for a single day, and note the effect on the will. The direction of the wind not unfrequently governs one's train of thought; resolution often depends upon the dryness of the atmosphere, benevolence upon the state of the stomach; misfortunes, arising from physical causes, have ere now changed the character of a ruler from one of lofty self-sacrifice, to one of peevish fretfulness, whereat his followers became estranged and his empire lost in consequence.

In the prosecution of an enterprise, how often we find ourselves drifting far from the anticipated goal.

Found Pages: The Remarkable Harold Ernest (“Darcy Glinto”) Kelly, 1899–1969.

The mind is governed by the condition of the body, the body by the conditions of climate and food; hence it is that many of our actions, which we conceive to be the result of free choice, arise from accidental circumstances. It is only in the broader view of humanity that general laws are to be recognized, as Dr Draper remarks: "He who is immersed in the turmoil of a crowded city sees nothing but the acts of men; and, if he formed his opinion from his experience alone, must conclude that the course of events altogether depends on the uncertainties of human volition.

But he who ascends to a sufficient elevation loses sight of the passing 18 conflicts, and no longer hears the contentions. He discovers that the importance of individual action is diminishing as the panorama beneath him is extending; and if he could attain to the truly philosophical, the general point of view, disengage himself from all terrestrial influences and entanglements, rising high enough to see the whole at a glance, his acutest vision would fail to discern the slightest indication of man, his free will, or his works.

Let us now glance at some of the manifestations of this progressional influence; first in its general aspects, after which we will notice its bearing on a few of the more important severalties intimately affecting humanity, such as religion, morality, government, and commerce,—for there is nothing that touches man's welfare, no matter how lightly, in all his long journey from naked wildness to clothed and cultured intelligence, that is not placed upon him by this progressional impulse. In every living thing there is an element of continuous growth; in every aggregation of living things there is an element of continuous improvement.

In the first instance, a vital actuality appears; whence, no one can tell. As the organism matures, a new germ is formed, which, as the parent stock decays, takes its place and becomes in like manner the parent of a successor. Thus even death is but the door to new forms of life. In the second instance, a body corporate appears, no less a vital actuality than the first; a social organism in which, notwithstanding ceaseless births and deaths, there is a living principle.

For while individuals are born and die, families live; while families are born and die, species live; while species are born and die, organic being assumes new forms and features. Herein the all-pervading principle of life, while flitting, is nevertheless permanent, while transient is yet eternal. But above and independent of perpetual birth and death is this element of continuous 19 growth, which, like a spirit, walks abroad and mingles in the affairs of men.

You have first an instinct; then an opinion, then a knowledge, as the plant has root bud and fruit. Under favorable conditions, and up to a certain point, stocks improve; by a law of natural selection the strongest and fittest survive, while the ill-favored and deformed perish; under conditions unfavorable to development, stocks remain stationary or deteriorate.

Paradoxically, so far as we know, organs and organisms are no more perfect now than in the beginning; animal instincts are no keener, nor are their habitudes essentially changed. No one denies that stocks improve, for such improvement is perceptible and permanent; many deny that organisms improve, for if there be improvement it is imperceptible, and has thus far escaped proof.

But, however this may be, it is palpable that the mind, and not the body, is the instrument and object of the progressional impulse. Man in the duality of his nature is brought under two distinct dominions; materially he is subject to the laws that govern matter, mentally to the laws that govern mind; physiologically he is perfectly made and non-progressive, psychologically he is embryonic and progressive.

Between these internal and external forces, between moral and material activities there may be, in some instances, an apparent antagonism. The mind may be developed in excess and to the detriment of the body, and the body may be developed in excess and to the detriment of the mind.

The animal man is a bundle of organs, with instincts implanted that set them in motion; man intellectual is a bundle of sentiments, with an implanted soul that keeps them effervescent; mankind in the mass, society,—we see the fermentations, we mark the transitions; is there, then, a soul in aggregated humanity as there is in individual humanity? The instincts of man's animality teach the organs 20 to perform their functions as perfectly at the first as at the last; the instincts of man's intellectuality urge him on in an eternal race for something better, in which perfection is never attained nor attainable; in society, we see the constant growth, the higher and yet higher development; now in this ever-onward movement are there instincts which originate and govern action in the body social as in the body individual?

Is not society a bundle of organs, with an implanted Soul of Progress, which moves mankind along in a resistless predetermined march? Nations are born and die; they appear first in a state of infancy or savagism; many die in their childhood, some grow into manhood and rule for a time the destinies of the world; finally, by sudden extinction, or a lingering decrepitude, they disappear, and others take their place.

But in this ceaseless coming and going there is somewhere a mysterious agency at work, making men better, wiser, nobler, whether they will or not. This improvement is not the effect of volition; the plant does not will to unfold, nor the immature animal to grow; neither can the world of human kind cease to advance in mind and in manners. Development is the inevitable incident of being. Nations, under normal conditions, can no more help advancing than they can throw themselves into a state of non-existence; than can the individual stop his corporeal growth, or shut out from the intellect every perception of knowledge, and become a living petrification.

And in whatever pertains to intellectual man this fundamental principle is apparent. It underlies all moralities, governments, and religions, all industries, arts, and commerce; it is the mainspring of every action, the consequence of every cause; it is the great central idea toward which all things converge; it is the object of all efforts, the end of all successes; it absorbs all forces, and is the combined results of innumerable agencies, good and evil.

Before the theory of Dr von Martius and his followers, 21 that the savage state is but a degeneration from something higher, can become tenable, the whole order of nature must be reversed. Races may deteriorate, civilized peoples relapse into barbarism, but such relapse cannot take place except under abnormal conditions. We cannot believe that any nation, once learning the use of iron would cast it away for stone.

Driven from an iron-yielding land, the knowledge of iron might at last be forgotten, but its use would never be voluntarily relinquished. And so with any of the arts or inventions of man. Societies, like individuals, are born, mature, and decay; they grow old and die; they may pause in their progress, become diseased, and thereby lose their strength and retrograde, but they never turn around and grow backward or ungrow,—they could not if they would.

In the brute creation this element of progress is wanting. The bird builds its nest, the bee its cell, the beaver its dam, with no more skill or elaboration to-day, than did the bird or bee or beaver primeval. The instinct of animals does not with time become intellect; their comforts do not increase, their sphere of action does not enlarge. By domestication, stocks may be improved, but nowhere do we see animals uniting for mutual improvement, or creating for themselves an artificial existence.

So in man, whose nature comprises both the animal and the intellectual, the physical organism neither perceptibly advances nor deteriorates. The features may, indeed, beam brighter from the light of a purer intellectuality cast upon them from within, but the hand, the eye, the heart, so far as we know, is no more perfect now than in the days of Adam. As viewed by Mr Bagehot, the body of the accomplished man "becomes, by training, different from what it once was, and different from that of the rude man, becomes charged with stored virtue and acquired faculty which come away from it unconsciously.

And, again, "power that has been laboriously acquired and stored up as statical in one generation" sometimes, says Maudsley, "becomes the inborn faculty of the next; and the development takes place in accordance with that law of increasing speciality and complexity of adaption to external nature which is traceable through the animal kingdom; or, in other words, that law of progress, from the general to the special, in development, which the appearance of nerve force amongst natural forces and the complexity of the nervous system of man both illustrate. Whether or not the nervous system, which is the connective tissue between man's animality and his intellectuality, transmits its subtle forces from one generation to another, we may be sure that the mind acts on the nerves, and the nerves on every part of the system, and that the intelligence of the mind influences and governs the materialism of the body, and the consequences in some way are felt by succeeding generations; but that the mind becomes material, and its qualities transmitted to posterity, is an hypothesis yet unestablished.

Moreover we may safely conclude that the improvement of mankind is a phenomenon purely intellectual. Not that the improvement of the mind is wholly independent of the condition of the body; for, as we shall hereafter see, so intimate is the connection between the mind and the body, that the first step toward intellectual advancement cannot be taken until the demands of the body are satisfied.

Nervous phenomena are dependent upon the same nutritive processes that govern physical development; and that this nerve force, through whose agency the system is charged with intellectuality, as the molecule is charged with mechanical force, does exist, is capable, to some extent, of transmitting acquirements or artificial instincts from parent to child, we have every reason to believe; but, so far as we know, intellectual force, per se , is no more a transmittable entity than is the flesh-quivering of the slain ox life.

The strangest part of it all is, that though wrought out by man as the instrument, and while acting in the capacity of a free agent, this spirit of progress is wholly independent of the will of man. Though in our individual actions we imagine ourselves directed only by our free will, yet in the end it is most difficult to determine what is the result of free will, and what of inexorable environment. While we think we are regulating our affairs, our affairs are regulating us. We plan out improvements, predetermine the best course and follow it, sometimes; yet, for all that, the principle of social progress is not the man, is not in the man, forms no constituent of his physical or psychical individual being; it is the social atmosphere into which the man is born, into which he brings nothing and from which he takes nothing.

While a member of society he adds his quota to the general fund and there leaves it; while acting as a free agent he performs his part in working out this problem of social development, performs it unconsciously, willing or unwilling he performs it, his baser passions being as powerful instruments of progress as his nobler; for avarice drives on intellect as effectually as benevolence, 24 hate as love, and selfishness does infinitely more for the progress of mankind than philanthropy. Thus is humanity played upon by this principle of progress, and the music sometimes is wonderful; green fields as if by magic take the place of wild forests, magnificent cities rise out of the ground, the forces of nature are brought under the dominion of man's intelligence, and senseless substances endowed with speech and action.

It is verily as Carlyle says; "under the strangest new vesture, the old great truth since no vesture can hide it begins again to be revealed: That man is what we call a miraculous creature, with miraculous power over men; and, on the whole, with such a Life in him, and such a World round him, as victorious Analysis, with her Physiologies, Nervous Systems, Physic and Metaphysic, will never completely name, to say nothing of explaining.

Thus, to sum up the foregoing premises: in society, between two or more individuals, there is at work a mysterious energy, not unlike that of force between molecules or life in the organism; this social energy is under intelligent governance, not fortuitous nor causeless, but reducible to fixed law, and capable of being wrought into a science; is, moreover, a vital actuality, not an incident nor an accident, but an entity, as attraction and repulsion are entities; under this agency society, perforce, develops like the plant from a germ.

This energy acts on the intellect, and through the intellect on the organism; acts independently of the will, and cannot be created or destroyed by man; is not found in the brute creation, is not transmittable by generation through individuals, is wrought out by man as a free-will agent, though acting unconsciously, and is the product alike of good and evil. As to the causes which originate progressional phenomena there are differences of opinion. One sees in the intellect the germ of an eternal unfolding; another recognizes in the soul-element the vital principle of 25 progress, and attributes to religion all the benefits of enlightenment; one builds a theory on the ground-work of a fundamental and innate morality; another discovers in the forces of nature the controlling influence upon man's destiny; while yet others, as we have seen, believe accumulative and inherent nervous force to be the media through which culture is transmitted.

Some believe that moral causes create the physical, others that physical causes create the moral. Thus Mr Buckle attempts to prove that man's development is wholly dependent upon his physical surroundings. Huxley points to a system of reflex actions,—mind acting on matter, and matter on mind,—as the possible culture-basis. Darwin advances the doctrine of an evolution from vivified matter as the principle of progressive development. In the transmution of nerve-element from parents to children, Bagehot sees "the continuous force which binds age to age, which enables each to begin with some improvement on the last, if the last did itself improve; which makes each civilization not a set of detached dots, but a line of color, surely enhancing shade by shade.

As in animals of the same genus or species, inhabiting widely different localities, we see the results of common instincts, so in the evolutions of the human race, divided by time or space, we see the same general principles at work. So too it would seem, whether species are one or many, whether man is a perfectly created being or an evolution from a lower form, that all the human races of the globe are formed on one 26 model and governed by the same laws.

In the customs, languages, and myths of ages and nations far removed from each other in social, moral, and mental characteristics, innumerable and striking analogies exist. Not only have all nations weapons, but many who are separated from each other by a hemisphere use the same weapon; not only is belief universal, but many relate the same myth; and to suppose the bow and arrow to have had a common origin, or that all flood-myths, and myths of a future life are but offshoots from Noachic and Biblical narratives is scarcely reasonable.

It is easier to tell what civilization is not, and what it does not spring from, than what it is and what its origin. To attribute its rise to any of the principles, ethical, political, or material, that come under the cognizance of man, is fallacy, for it is as much an entity as any other primeval principle; nor may we, with Archbishop Whately, entertain the doctrine that civilization never could have arisen had not the Creator appeared upon earth as the first instructor; for, unfortunately for this hypothesis, the aboriginals supposedly so taught, were scarcely civilized at all, and compare unfavorably with the other all-perfect works of creation; so that this sort of reasoning, like innumerable other attempts of man to limit the powers of Omnipotence, and narrow them down to our weak understandings, is little else than puerility.

Nor, as we have seen, is this act of civilizing the effect of volition; nor, as will hereafter more clearly appear, does it arise from an inherent principle of good any more than from an inherent principle of evil. The ultimate result, though difficult of proof, we take for granted to be good, but the agencies employed for its consummation number among them more of those we call evil than of those we call good.

The isolated individual never, by any possibility, can become civilized like the social man; he cannot even speak, and without a flow of words there can be no complete flow 27 of thought. Send him forth away from his fellow-man to roam the forest with the wild beasts, and he would be almost as wild and beastlike as his companions; it is doubtful if he would ever fashion a tool, but would not rather with his claws alone procure his food, and forever remain as he now is, the most impotent of animals. The intellect, by which means alone man rises above other animals, never could work, because the intellect is quickened only as it comes in contact with intellect.

The germ of development therein implanted cannot unfold singly any more than the organism can bear fruit singly. It is a well-established fact that the mind without language cannot fully develop; it is likewise established that language is not inherent, that it springs up between men, not in them. Language, like civilization, belongs to society, and is in no wise a part or the property of the individual. We may hold then, a priori, that this progressional 28 principle exists; that it exists not more in the man than around him; that it requires an atmosphere in which to live, as life in the body requires an atmosphere which is its vital breath, and that this atmosphere is generated only by the contact of man with man.

Under analysis this social atmosphere appears to be composed of two opposing principles—good and evil—which, like attraction and repulsion, or positive and negative electricity, underlie all activities. One is as essential to progress as the other; either, in excess or disproportionately administered, like an excess of oxygen or of hydrogen in the air, becomes pernicious, engenders social disruptions and decay which continue until the equilibrium is restored; yet all the while with the progress of humanity the good increases while the evil diminishes.

Every impulse incident to humanity is born of the union of these two opposing principles. For example, as I have said, and will attempt more fully to show further on, association is the first requisite of progress. But what is to bring about association? Naked nomads will not voluntarily yield up their freedom, quit their wanderings, hold conventions and pass resolutions concerning the greatest good to the greatest number; patriotism, love, benevolence, brotherly kindness, will not bring savage men together; extrinsic force must be employed, an iron hand must be laid upon them which will compel them to unite, else there can be no civilization; and to accomplish this first great good to man,—to compel mankind to take the initial step toward the amelioration of their condition,—it is ordained that an evil, or what to us of these latter times is surely an evil, come forward,—and that evil is War.

Primeval man, in his social organization, is patriarchal, spreading out over vast domains in little bands or families, just large enough to be able successfully to cope with wild beasts. And in that state humanity would forever remain did not some terrible cause force these bands to confederate. War is an evil, 29 originating in hateful passions and ending in dire misery; yet without war, without this evil, man would forever remain primitive.

But something more is necessary. War brings men together for a purpose, but it is insufficient to hold them together; for when the cause which compacted them no longer exists, they speedily scatter, each going his own way. Then comes in superstition to the aid of progress. A successful leader is first feared as a man, then reverenced as a supernatural being, and finally himself, or his descendant, in the flesh or in tradition, is worshiped as a god.

Then an unearthly fear comes upon mankind, and the ruler, perceiving his power, begins to tyrannize over his fellows. Both superstition and tyranny are evils; yet, without war superstition and tyranny, dire evils, civilization, which many deem the highest good, never by any possibility, as human nature is, could be. But more of the conditions of progress hereafter; what I wish to establish here is, that evil is no less a stimulant of development than good, and that in this principle of progress are manifest the same antagonism of forces apparent throughout physical nature; the same oppugnant energies, attractive and repulsive, positive and negative, everywhere existing.

It is impossible for two or more individuals to be brought into contact with each other, whether through causes or for purposes good or evil, without ultimate improvement to both. I say whether through causes or for purposes good or evil, for, to the all-pervading principle of evil, civilization is as much indebted as to the all-pervading principle of good.

Indeed, the beneficial influences of this unwelcome element have never been generally recognized. Whatever be this principle of evil, whatever man would be without it, the fact is clearly evident that to it civilization, whatever that may be, owes its existence. The world, such as it is, man finds himself destined for a time to inhabit. Within him and around him the involuntary occupant perceives two agencies at work; agencies apparently oppugnant, yet both tending to one end—improvement; and Night or Day, Love or Crime, leads all souls to the Good, as Emerson sings. The principle of evil acts as a perpetual stimulant, the principle of good as a reward of merit.

United in their operation, there is a constant tendency toward a better condition, a higher state; apart, the result would be inaction. For, civilization being a progression and not a fixed condition, without incentives, that is without something to escape from and something to escape to, there could be no transition, and hence no civilization. Had man been placed in the world perfected and sinless, obviously there would be no such thing as progress.

The absence of evil implies perfect good, and perfect good perfect happiness. Were man sinless and yet capable of increasing knowledge, the incentive would be wanting, for, if perfectly happy, why should he struggle to become happier? The advent of civilization is in the appearance of a want, and the first act of civilization springs from the attempt to supply the want.

The man or nation that wants nothing remains inactive, and hence does not advance; so that it is not in what we have but in what we have not that civilization consists. These wants are forced upon us, implanted within us, inseparable from our being; they increase with an increasing supply, grow hungry from what they feed on; in quick succession, aspirations, 31 emulations, and ambitions spring up and chase each other, keeping the fire of discontent ever glowing, and the whole human race effervescent.

The tendency of civilizing force, like the tendency of mechanical force, is toward an equilibrium, toward a never-attainable rest. Obviously there can be no perfect equilibrium, no perfect rest, until all evil disappears, but in that event the end of progress would be attained, and humanity would be perfect and sinless. Man at the outset is not what he may be, he is capable of improvement or rather of growth; but childlike, the savage does not care to improve, and consequently must be scourged into it.

Advancement is the ultimate natural or normal state of man; humanity on this earth is destined some day to be relatively, if not absolutely, good and happy. The healthy body has appetites, in the gratification of which lies its chiefest enjoyment; the healthy mind has proclivities, the healthy soul intuitions, in the exercise and activities of which the happiest life is attainable; and in as far as the immaterial and immortal in our nature is superior to the material and mortal, in so far does the education and development of our higher nature contribute in a higher degree to our present benefit and our future well-being.

There is another thought in this connection well worthy our attention. In orthodox and popular parlance, labor is a curse entailed on man by vindictive justice; yet viewed as a civilizing agent, labor is man's greatest blessing. Throughout all nature there is no such thing found as absolute inertness; and, as in matter, so with regard to our faculties, no sooner do they begin to rest than they begin to rot, and even in the rotting they can obtain no rest.

One of the chief objects of labor is to get gain, and Dr Johnson holds that "men are seldom more innocently employed than when they are making money. Human experience teaches, that in the effort is greater pleasure than in the end attained; that labor is 32 the normal condition of man; that in acquisition, that is progress, is the highest happiness; that passive enjoyment is inferior to the exhilaration of active attempt. Now imagine the absence from the world of this spirit of evil, and what would be the result?

Total inaction. But before inaction can become more pleasurable than action, man's nature must be changed. Not to say that evil is a good thing, clearly there is a goodness in things evil; and in as far as the state of escaping from evil is more pleasurable than the state of evil escaped from, in so far is evil conducive to happiness. The effect of well-directed labor is twofold; by exercise our faculties strengthen and expand, and at the same time the returns of that labor give us leisure in which to direct our improved faculties to yet higher aims.

By continual efforts to increase material comforts, greater skill is constantly acquired, and the mind asserts more and more its independence. Increasing skill yields ever increased delights, which encourage and reward our labor. This, up to a certain point; but with wealth and luxury comes relaxed energy.

Without necessity there is no labor; without labor no advancement. Corporeal necessity first forces corporeal activity; then the intellect goes to work to contrive means whereby labor may be lessened and made more productive. The discontent which arises from discomfort, lies at the root of every movement; but then comfort is a relative term and complete satisfaction is never attained. Indeed, as a rule, the more squalid and miserable the race, the more are they disposed to settle down and content themselves in their state of discomfort.

What is discomfort to one is luxury to another; "the mark of rank in nature is capacity for pain"; in following the intellectual life, the higher the culture the greater the discontent; the greater the acquisition, the more eagerly do men press forward toward some higher and greater imaginary good. We 33 all know that blessings in excess become the direst curses; but few are conscious where the benefit of a blessing terminates and the curse begins, and fewer still of those who are able thus to discriminate have the moral strength to act upon that knowledge.

As a good in excess is an evil, so evil as it enlarges outdoes itself and tends toward self-annihilation. If we but look about us, we must see that to burn up the world in order to rid it of gross evil—a dogma held by some—is unnecessary, for accumulative evils ever tend towards reaction. Excessive evils are soonest remedied; the equilibrium of the evil must be maintained, or the annihilation of the evil ensues. Institutions and principles essentially good at one time are essential evils at another time. The very aids and agencies of civilization become afterward the greatest drags upon progress.

At one time it would seem that blind faith was essential to improvement, at another time skepticism, at one time order and morality, at another time lawlessness and rapine; for so it has ever been, and whether peace and smiling plenty, or fierce upheavals and dismemberments predominate, from every social spasm as well as fecund leisure, civilization shoots forward in its endless course. The very evils which are regarded as infamous by a higher culture were the necessary stepping-stones to that higher life. As we have seen, no nation ever did or can emerge from barbarism without first placing its neck under the yokes of despotism and superstition; therefore, despotism and superstition, now dire evils, were once essential benefits.

No religion ever attained its full development except under persecution. Our present evils are constantly working out for humanity unforeseen good. All systems of wrongs and fanaticisms are but preparing us for and urging us on to a higher state. If then civilization is a predestined, ineluctable, and eternal march away from things evil toward that which is good, it must be that throughout the world 34 the principle of good is ever increasing and that of evil decreasing.

And this is true. Not only does evil decrease, but the tendency is ever toward its disappearance. Gradually the confines of civilization broaden; the central principle of human progress attains greater intensity, and the mind assumes more and more its lordly power over matter. The moment we attempt to search out the cause of any onward movement we at once encounter this principle of evil. The old-time aphorism that life is a perpetual struggle; the first maxim of social ethics 'the greatest happiness to the greatest number'; indeed, every thought and action of our lives points in the same direction.

From what is it mankind is so eager to escape; with what do we wrestle; for what do we strive? We fly from that which gives pain to that which gives pleasure; we wrestle with agencies which bar our escape from a state of infelicity; we long for happiness. Then comes the question, What is happiness? Is man polished and refined happier than man wild and unfettered; is civilization a blessing or a curse? Rousseau, we know, held it to be the latter; but not so Virey. The civilized man, surrounded in his feebleness by affectionate attention, sustains a longer existence, enjoys more pleasure and daily comforts, is better protected against inclemencies of weather and all external ills.

The isolated man must suffice for himself, must harden himself to endure any privation; his very existence depends upon his strength, and if necessity requires it of him, he must be ready to abandon wife and children and life itself at any moment. Such cruel misery is rare in social life, where the sympathies of humanity are awakened, and freely exercised.

Continue these simple interrogatories a little farther and see where we land. Is the wild bird, forced to long migrations for endurable climates and food, happier than the caged bird which buys a daily plentiful supply for a song? Is the wild beast, ofttimes hungry and hunted, happier than its chained brother of the menagerie? Is the wild horse, galloping with its fellows over the broad prairie, happier than the civilized horse of carriage, cart, or plow?

May we not question whether the merchant, deep in his speculating ventures, or the man of law, poring over his brain-tearing brief, derives a keener sense of enjoyment than does the free forest-native, following the war-path or pursuing his game? As I have attempted to show, civilization is not an end attained, for man is never wholly civilized,—but only the effort to escape from an evil, or an imaginary evil—savagism. I say an evil real or imaginary, for as we have seen, the question has been seriously discussed whether civilization is better or worse than savagism.

For every advantage which culture affords, a price must be paid,—some say too great a price. The growth of the mind is dependent upon its cultivation, but this cultivation may be voluntary or involuntary, it may be a thing desired or a thing abhorred.

The Works of Hubert Howe Bancroft, Volume 2

Every nation, every society, and every person has its or his own standard of happiness. The miser delights in wealth, the city belle in finery, the scholar in learning. The Christian's heaven is a spiritual city, where they neither marry, nor are given in marriage; the Norse-man's a Valhalla of alternate battle and wassail; the Mahometan's, a paradise of houris and lazy sensuality. The martyr at the stake, triumphant in his faith, may be happier than the man of fashion dying of ennui and gout; the savage, wandering through forest and over plain in pursuit of game, or huddled in his hut with wives and children, may be happier than the care-laden speculator or the wrangling politician.

Content, the essence of all happiness, is as prevalent 36 among the poor and ill-mannered, as among the rich, refined and civilized. Ubi bene, ibi patria , where it is well with me, there is my country, is the motto of the Indian,—and to be well with him signifies only to be beyond the reach of hunger and enemies.

Ask the savage which is preferable, a native or a cultured state, and he will answer the former; ask the civilized man, and he will say the latter. I do not see any greater absurdity in the wild man saying to the tamed one: Give up the despotisms and diseases of society and throw yourself with me upon beauteous, bounteous nature; than in the European saying to the American: If you would find happiness, abandon your filth and naked freedom, accept Christianity and cotton shirts, go to work in a mission, rot on a reservation, or beg and starve in civilized fashion! Of all animals, man alone has broken down the barriers of his nature in civilizing, or, as Rousseau expresses it, in denaturalizing himself; and for this denaturalization some natural good must be relinquished; to every infringement of nature's law, there is a penalty attached; for a more delicate organism the price is numberless new diseases; for political institutions the price is native freedom.

With polished manners the candidate for civilization must accept affectation, social despotism; with increasing wealth, increasing wants; civilization engenders complexity in society, and in its turn is engendered thereby. Peoples the most highly cultured are moved by the most delicate springs; a finer touch, the result of greater skill, with a finer tone, the result of greater experience, produces music more and yet more exquisite. Were man only an animal, this denaturalization and more, would be true. The tamed brute gives up all the benefits of savagism for few of the blessings of civilization; in a cultured state, as compared to a state of wild freedom, its ills are numberless, its advantages infinitesimal.

But human nature is twofold, objective and subjective, the former typical of the 37 savage state, the latter of the civilized. Man is not wholly animal; and by cultivating the mind, that is, by civilizing himself, he is no more denaturalized than by cultivating the body, and thereby acquiring greater physical perfection. We cannot escape our nature; we cannot re-create ourselves; we can only submit ourselves to be polished and improved by the eternal spirit of progress. The moral and the intellectual are as much constituents of human nature as the physical; civilization, therefore, is as much the natural state of man as savagism.

Another more plausible and partially correct assertion is, that by the development of the subjective part of our nature, objective humanity becomes degenerated. The intellectual cannot be wrought up to the highest state of cultivation except at the expense of the physical, nor the physical fully developed without limiting the mental. The efforts of the mind draw from the energies of the body; the highest and healthiest vigor of the body can only be attained when the mind is at rest, or in a state of careless activity.

In answer to which I should say that beyond a certain point, it is true; one would hardly train successfully for a prize fight and the tripos at the same time; but that the non-intellectual savage, as a race, is physically superior, capable of enduring greater fatigue, or more skillful in muscular exercise than the civilized man is inconsistent with facts. Civilization has its vices as well as its virtues, savagism has its advantages as well as its demerits. The evils of savagism are not so great as we imagine; its pleasures more than we are apt to think.

As we become more and more removed from evils their magnitude enlarges; the fear of suffering increases as suffering is less experienced and witnessed. If savagism holds human life in light esteem, civilization makes death more hideous than it really is; if savagism is more cruel, it is less sensitive.

Combatants accustomed to frequent encounter think lightly of 38 wounds, and those whose life is oftenest imperiled think least of losing it. Indifference to pain is not necessarily the result of cruelty; it may arise as well from the most exalted sentiment as from the basest. Civilization not only engenders new vices, but proves the destroyer of many virtues. Among the wealthier classes energy gives way to enjoyment, luxury saps the foundation of labor, progress becomes paralyzed, and with now and then a noble exception, but few earnest workers in the paths of literature, science, or any of the departments which tend to the improvement of mankind, are to be found among the powerful and the affluent, while the middle classes are absorbed in money-getting, unconsciously thereby, it is true, working toward the ends of civilization.

That civilization is expedient, that it is a good, that it is better than savagism, we who profess to be civilized entertain no doubt. Those who believe otherwise must be ready to deny that health is better than disease, truth than superstition, intellectual power than stupid ignorance; but whether the miseries and vices of savagism, or those of civilization are the greater, is another question. The tendency of civilization is, on the whole, to purify the morals, to give equal rights to man, to distribute more equally among men the benefits of this world, to melioriate wholesale misery and degradation, offer a higher aim and the means of accomplishing a nobler destiny, to increase the power of the mind and give it dominion over the forces of nature, to place the material in subservience to the mental, to elevate the individual and regulate society.

True, it may be urged that this heaping up of intellectual fruits tends toward monopoly, toward making the rich richer and the poor poorer, but I still hold that the benefits of civilization are for the most part evenly distributed; that wealth beyond one's necessity is generally a curse to the possessor greater than the extreme of poverty, and that the true blessings of culture and refinement like air and sunshine are free to all.

Civilization, it is said, multiplies wants, but then they are ennobling wants, better called aspirations, and many of these civilization satisfies. If civilization breeds new vices, old ones are extinguished by it. Decency and decorum hide the hideousness of vice, drive it into dark corners, and thereby raise the tone of morals and weaken vice.

Thus civilization promotes chastity, elevates woman, breaks down the barriers of hate and superstition between ancient nations and religions; individual energy, the influence of one over the many, becomes less and less felt, and the power of the people becomes stronger. Civilization in itself can not but be beneficial to man; that which makes society more refined, more intellectual, less bestial, more courteous; that which cures physical and mental diseases, increases the comforts and luxury of life, purifies religions, makes juster governments, must surely be beneficial: it is the universal principle of evil which impregnates all human affairs, alloying even current coin, which raises the question.

That there are evils attending civilization as all other benefits, none can deny, but civilization itself is no evil. If I have succeeded in presenting clearly the foregoing thoughts, enough has been said as to the nature and essence of civilization; let us now examine some of the conditions essential to intellectual development. For it must not be forgotten that, while every department of human progress is but the unfolding of a germ; while every tendency of our life, every custom and creed of our civilization finds its rudiment in savagism; while, as man develops, no new elements of human nature are created by the process; while, as the organism of the child is as complex and complete as the organism of the man, so is humanity in a savage state the perfect germ of humanity civilized,—it must not be forgotten in all this, that civilization cannot unfold except under favorable conditions.

Just as the plant, 40 though endowed with life which corresponds to the mind-principle in progress, requires for its growth a suitable soil and climate, so this progressional phenomenon must have soil and sunshine before it yields fruit; and this is another proof that civilization is not in the man more than around him; for if the principle were inherent in the individual, then the Hyperborean, with his half year of light and half year of underground darkness, must of necessity become civilized equally with the man born amidst the sharpening jostles of a European capital, for in all those parts that appertain solely to the intrinsic individual, the one develops as perfectly as the other.

A people undergoing the civilizing process need not necessarily, does not indeed, advance in every species of improvement at the same time; in some respects the nation may be stationary, in others even retrograde. Every age and every nation has its special line of march. Literature and the fine arts reached their height in pagan Greece; monotheism among the Hebrews; science unfolded in Egypt, and government in Rome.

In every individual there is some one talent that can be cultivated more advantageously than any other; so it is with nations, every people possesses some natural advantage for development in some certain direction over every other people, and often the early history of a nation, like the precocious proclivities of the child, points toward its future; and in such arts and industries as its climate and geographical position best enable it to develop, is discovered the germ of national character.

Seldom is the commercial spirit developed in the interior of a continent, or the despotic spirit on the border of the sea, or the predatory spirit in a country wholly devoid of mountains and fastnesses. It cannot be said that one nation or race is inherently better fitted for civilization than another; all may not be equally fitted for exactly the same civilization, but all are alike fitted for that civilization which, if left to itself, each will work out.

Mankind, moreover, advances spasmodically, and in certain directions only at a time, which is the greatest drawback to progress. Vecchio: Aw come on Chuck. I got nothin but friends, everybody likes me. I do business with everybody. And um, I'd like to do a little business with Frankie Drake. You seen him around?

Chuck: You know, Vecchio, the strangest thing. Every time I introduce you to someone the cops appear. Vecchio: I had some unreliable people working for me, Chuck. It happens. What can I say? Chuck: I don't know. Use your imagination. Vecchio: Hey, what the hell is going on? Chuck: You've been made man.

Vecchio: Aw come on just because I carry a gun does that make me a cop? Okay, so maybe I offended some of you guys but uh, I know. I know. Let me make it up to you. I'll give five hundred dollars to anyone who knows what a moose sounds like. Thank you. Anyone carrying illegal weapons, if you would place them on the bar you are under arrest.

Punk 1: Hey Dudley Do Right, you got no jurisdiction here. Fraser: Now that is true son. However, this gentleman does. Ray would you be so good as to show them your I. And now if you would all just step back, Detective Vecchio and I will collect your weapons.

Punk 2: Would it be too much for us to ask you to show us your gun? Fraser: No, not at all. I carry a standard thirty eight caliber Smith and Wessen service revolver. Man: I got a Barretta, man, would you like to see it? Fraser: But without a local license, I am not permitted to use it. And that is why it's empty. Dief: Growl. Customer reviews: The Case of the Sad Luck Dame (A Huey Dusk Caper Book 2)

Man: Whoa! Thank you, you're a good citizen. Vecchio: Okay, weapons on the bar. You heard the man. You, guns on the bar. Don't even think about it, Scarface. Fraser; Thank you. I'll be back for those. Vecchio: Yo! Would I carry an unloaded gun? Would anyone I know carry an unloaded gun? What do they shoot people with in Canada, serviettes? Vecchio: Do the words bullets mean anything to you? Fraser: I think we're on the right track. Yeah -- like the explorer.

Never heard that one before. Guess who? Well I thought you said there weren't going to be any complications. Yeah, yeah a big one. And it's wearin a hat. I'll take care of him myself but uh, I'm afraid there'll be an additional charge. Well yes, sir. My pleasure. Does this seem like a fairly accurate list of the damages, Detective Vecchio? Vecchio: I don't believe the pool table was an antique, sir. Walsh: Oh, well, we'll never know now will we. Because all that's left is this bag of felt. Vecchio: I sought refuge of the item in question when the suspect pointed a shot gun in my direction and fired repeatedly sir.

Walsh: Suspect. I'm glad we finally got around to that because I would hate to think we were responsible for all this damage without a very good reason. You say you identified him by his nose? Vecchio: Yes sir. Walsh: You didn't say something about his nose, causing him to fire repeatedly into the bar?


Vecchio: Ah, no sir. Walsh: You just felt that his nose was so offensive that you decided to pursue and arrest him? And you coupled your hunch with your positive identification of his nose. And this was the basis of your investigation.

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An investigation which resulted in injury of seven people. Three with gun shot wounds, two with broken limbs, one hospitalized with a concussion and one who claims to have been bitten by a wolf. Vecchio: The wolf was just trying to help sir. Walsh: They usually are. Fraser: If I could say something sir?

Walsh: Well of course you can young man. I'm not sure exactly how a Mountie fits into this case but. I like to keep an open mind. Fraser: It was at my urging Detective Vecchio went to the bar. Walsh: Ah, so it wasn't just a hunch about a nose. You went there at the urging of a Mountie. Detective, how many open, unsolved crimes are on your desk right now?

Vecchio: Forty one. Walsh: And how bout you Constable Fraser. How many open unsolved cases are you working on right now? Fraser: One sir. Walsh: One. Then as intrigued as I am by this case, let me suggest that you go back to your desk and you pick up any one of those open forty one files and you put your nose into it.

And you keep it there until you have an epiphany. Walsh: Yes. I'm sure he'll see this was all my responsibility. Vecchio: Yeah, thanks. You leave this number for a doctor somebody? Fraser: He called. Vecchio: So it says. Fraser: May I? Fraser: This is Constable Fraser. Coroner: Oh, yeah, I was just about to put this in the mail to you. I uh I did that autopsy on that caribou you dropped off.

It drowned. Fraser: I'm sorry? Coroner: Drowned. Lungs were full of water. That do anything for you? Fraser: It drank to much. Coroner: Yeah that's another way of looking at it. I'll uh I'll mail you the report. Then to Ray] How much do I owe you? Vecchio: Explanation. Fraser: A hundred yards from where my father died I found the carcasses of several dozen caribou. Coroner says they drowned.

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Vecchio: And I thought they were such great swimmers. Fraser: They didn't have to be. They drowned on dry land. For the call. I appreciate you putting yourself out for me. LeeAnn watches. LeeAnn: You know. We even heard about your father down here. He was quiet the man. He was a great man. Walk her to her door. Cabby: This is Canadian. Fraser: So is she. I tracked McClay up through Chilkat Pass. I found him at the top half a mile from the border. His ankle was broken, his ammunition spent. He just sat staring at the horizon. I took his rifle without a struggle.

All he said was, 'Don't tell my son' and then he jumped. The man was falling to his death and all he cared about was how his son would remember him. I buried him there this morning. I'll tell Gerard he got away from me. The last time I saw Ben he was barely tall enough to reach my belt. When I said good-by, he shook my hand. Never a tear nor a complaint. Seven years old and he's already a stronger man than I'll ever be. Someday I'll tell him. Fraser: You solved all forty one cases? Vecchio: Well, I got restless, made a few calls. The truth? I checked every snitch I ever knew.

No one's talkin. No one knows Drake, no one wants to know me. Fraser: It's my father's journal. I was just reading. Vecchio: Looking for something you missed? Vecchio: Nineteen sixty nine? Going back a ways. Find anything? Fraser: I don't know. Vecchio: Look. I know how you must feel. I mean if it was my old man? Well, if it was my old man, I'd be the last person you'd want on the case.

He pretty much thought that I screwed up everything I ever touched. You know he's been dead for five years now and I still feel like I'm trying to prove myself to him? Your father want you to be a cop? All these years and I can't remember him asking me to do anything for him. Not one thing. This is the only time he's ever needed my help.

Vecchio: You got any other family? Vecchio: Well I'm gonna show you why you are a lucky man. Come on. Vecchio: Maria, you are not getting an annulment. Maria: Ma, how can you say that? The man is an animal. Vecchio: You're among friends, use your fingers. Maria: Ma. He's a beast. Vecchio: A man who buys his wife a leopard print house coat is no beast.

Maria: For our anniversary? Five years we've been together. All he can come up with is a used house coat. Tony: It was not used. The guy just happened to sell lingerie out of the trunk. Vecchio: You make any sense out of the dead caribous? Fraser: Uh no. Vecchio: Francesca, you stay out of this. Francesca: Ma! Thank you! Fraser: Is it always like this? Vecchio: It's okay, they only attack the ones they love. And get your own Polenta. You ate it all. Tony: She's still my mother-in-law and I'll call her what I like.

You understand. Vecchio: All right, stop the arguing, I'll get the polenta. Francesca: No, Ma. Don't touch the polenta. He can get his own. Maria: He is my husband, I will tell him not to get the polenta. Francesca: Well maybe you should tell him not to get the polenta after all. Fraser: [clears throat] Perhaps I could get the polenta. Tony: Would you bring the pan please? Vecchio: He's very nice. Vecchio: He's Canadian, Ma. Vecchio: Oh, I thought he was sick or something.

Francesca: Is he married? Fraser: Ray? Vecchio: Uh, sorta like a yellow pemmican. Francesca: At least my husband never yelled at the dinner table. Husband; Maybe because he wasn't around long enough to have a full meal. Francesca: [Hey! No fair! It's Italian. He did? Fraser: I found the polenta. Vecchio: We gotta go. Fraser: I'll get my hat.

Vecchio: Who broke who's arm? Vecchio: Drake. He broke his wife's arm. Francesca: Of course he did, he's a man isn't he? Maria: Oh -- all men are evil just because you can't keep one. Francesca; Oh sure. Vecchio: Now if we find the ex-wife, we find Drake. This is a woman who'd love to see him behind bars. Fraser: Thanks for dinner, ma'am. Vecchio: ooo You hardly ate anything. Wait I'll wrap it up. Francesca: It was very nice to meet you.

Maybe next time you can bring your girlfriend. Vecchio: Raymondo. Vecchio: Maaaaa! Vecchio: Eh driver's license says she still lives here. Now watch what you say to her you don't want to spook her. And take your lead from me you got to know how to play these people. Put that down you don't know where that's been. Oh no that is disgusting! Put that down. Don't do that. That is disgusting. Fraser: I'm sorry. Vecchio: Can't I take you anywhere? Drake, police may we come in?

Drake: Do you have a warrant? Hey my kid is sleeping. Vecchio: We're looking for your husband, Mrs. Drake: We're divorced he doesn't live here and get out of my house. Vecchio: But you know where he is. Drake: Yeah we exchange love letters. I don't see him, I don't speak to him now get out of my house. Vecchio: Come on you don't want us taking you in. Wakin up the kid right? Now has he seen his father? Drake: Get out. Get out of my house. Fraser: Ma'am we're sorry to disturb you. We won't keep you any longer. Fraser: Ray. Vecchio: Great.

You know maybe we shoulda had tea on your chesterfield instead. Fraser: Sorry, oh uh Mrs. When your husband was here this afternoon did he threaten? Drake: I haven't seen him, okay? Fraser: We can protect you. Drake: He's in Chinatown. Don't think you can just arrest him, kill the son of a bitch. It was the mud, right? You knew it came off his shoe because when you sniffed it, it smelled like: Mud!

I mean, what else does much smell like? Fraser: Perhaps it was something off the floor of the bar. Vecchio: Wood? No no no. Beer and maybe a peanut shells and when you tasted it, which by the way I can't believe you put that in your mouth you tasted the salt from the peanut shells and knew that he had been here, right? Fraser: Wrong. I guessed. I had a hunch. No no no no. You don't have hunches. I have hunches. Fraser: I had one of your hunches Ray.

Felt good. Vecchio: And what was it with the mud? You put mud in your mouth. Fraser: Ray, she was looking out the window and I simply made her believe I found something. Vecchio: You made her believe you were a mud eater. I can't believe I'm sitting in the same car with you. Fraser: Where's this address. Vecchio: Why? What are you gonna do? Tell him to surrender or you're gonna eat something off the curb? Elaine: Back ups on the way.

Fraser: Is this a good time to be discussing this? Vecchio: Come on.

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We're two friends out for a walk. Where you from? Fraser: Well, I grew up with my grandparents in Inuvik. Is that downtown Inuvik or the outskirts. Fraser: More the outskirts. Then when I was eight we moved to Alert and after that Tuktoyatuk. Vecchio: Ah, let me guess. Your grandparents were what -- nomadic glacier farmers? Fraser: Librarians. Do we have a warrant? Vecchio: Practically. Vecchio: I screwed up. Fraser: Don't. Gerard: Ben. You were suppose to work through the police. You'd no right to be in that apartment working this case. You'll have to come back with me.

There'll be a fitness board hearing. I did what I could. Fraser: I know. Gerard: I'll get the car. LeeAnn: I'm sorry. LeeAnn: Oh uh, I'll get him through quarantine. I'll have him back up north before you are. Fraser: Thank You. The first time I met your father. We were standing out for inspection and he had one boot on. Fraser: I've got him! No, I got him. Fraser: There was no knife. Gerard: The man killed your father.

He was reaching for his knife. We both saw it. Gerard [to arriving cops]: RCMP! They lived off the land and so did we. Till the water came. They said it wouldn't change anything but now some nights the rivers run backward. Land becomes an ocean and the caribou die. And in the morning the ocean is gone all back here neat and tidy. Fraser: Why haven't you told someone. Eric: Told your father. He didn't do anything. Neither will you. Doo Mah! Gerard: Most people around here did.

And they earn their livings off it. People want homes, jobs. You know how much money this dam brought into this community? How many people would be hurt if they shut it down? Progress has it's price. Fraser: And what was yours? They paid to keep quiet about it. He was going to turn you in. That's what I'm going to do. Gerard: I wasn't the only one they paid. Gave his whole life to the people up here. And all he ended up with was that shack of his. He wanted to buy a little piece of land up there some place.

Ya blame him? Can you see your dad stuck in some government retirement home? Not likely. It wasn't easy to convince him to take the money but he finally did. Gerard: Didn't start off such a big thing. They built the damn thing wrong. Can't hold that much water. So you twist a valve here press a button there you let out a little. Only it turned out to be more than a little and they had to keep doing it. I think when he saw what they were doing to the land he just couldn't live with it.

He wanted out. They wanted me to do it. But I couldn't. I made the call. Fraser: He was your friend, you son of a bitch. Your father was a great man. A hell of a lot better man than me. And now he's only got one thing left. His reputation. Arrest me and you take away the only thing he loved more. It's your call. Check the bank, it's all there. A facility which will not only boon the economy of this unique community but which will when completed provide vital hydro electric power for the people and industries of most of the eastern seaport.

Ladies and gentlemen with great pride I give you Phase two. Gerard: He won't cause any trouble. Politician: Good cause I'd hate to see a perfectly good career go to waste. Gerard: Yours or mine? Politician: This time do it right. We use em quite a bit in the states now. Maybe you seen the commercials for em. Vecchio: Go ahead, shoot. Be a hell of a lot easier than getting out of this snowsuit. Fraser: You suppose to be out of the hospital?

Vecchio: Figured out who did it. I was lying there and I just kept going over and over it in my head. Drake didn't have a phone in his apartment house. How did he do business. So I check out the pay phone at the bar we busted up. One call to Canada. Number in this area code. You know who he called? Fraser: Gerard. Exactly--You knew? Ray; You couldn't have called and told me this?

Vecchio: Dropped me a post card saying 'Hi, I've solved the case. Vecchio: 'Don't bother crawling out of your deathbed and flying up to the armpit of the frozen north. I figured out who did it? Vecchio: Just point me to the john. So what's your plan. Fraser: We wait for them to come. Fraser: Then we arrest them.

Vecchio: You see, that's such a simple plan that the American mind automatically tends to discount it, so let me run it back to you. We wait here. Gerard and God knows who else comes, sometime when? We're not sure. And then, when we least expect it, they shoot us dead with automatic weapons. Any part I left out? I need Gerard alive to testify so we can't kill him.

Vecchio: Oh, I don't think we're in any danger doing that. Fraser: When I graduated from the Academy, my father gave me one piece of advice. He said always. Vecchio: That's suppose to mean something in Canadian, isn't it? Fraser: If you're going to take on a man, you'd better know more than he does. Our strength is I know this area better than anyone. There weakness is they think they have an advantage.

Vecchio: Let me see that bag. Being an American, I also know where my strength lies, and that's in being as heavily armed as possible at all times. Fraser: Time to feed the troops. Fraser: They're here. They knocked. Fraser: This way. We're taking the sled. Vecchio: With dogs? Go go go. Mush mush. Yee-ha mush go. Fraser: Okay guys. Vecchio: Haw? What is Haw? Fraser: Left. Use that. Fraser: Get down. Hang on. Vecchio: Watch the arm. Fraser: Hill. Look when we get past that bend, jump off. They'll follow me. Vecchio: Like Hell. Because I'll be dead from falling off the sled. Fraser: Just get this guy off my tail.

I can take care of the other one. Vecchio: Alright. I've got to have some more Fraser: Hold on Diefenbaker I said hold on OK Guys. Vecchio: You know we just took out 7 guys 1 more and you qualify for American citizenship. Maintaining that 10, caribou drowned in the forest as a result of a series of freak natural occurances Phase 2 of the project is scheduled to begin construction this year Shelley Perry Channel 6 news. The chief- You didn't make a lot of friends today.

There is no record of your father making any withdrawals None of the deposits were made in person Ppl will believe what they want to believe, I know what I do. Fraser: I appreciate that. Chief- I talked to the super at your last job.. Fraser: Well that would put me in Russia Sir. Chief- Seems the only ppl that do want you are in Chicago. If I were you I'd make do until things calm down. Fraser: How long will that be? Chief- You turned in one of your own.. It's not right but Fraser: Thanks for trying Sir Chief- Everyone says he was the last of a breed It's not true Ben nails up the shutters I'm not Ray trying to get a response from B..

Vecchio: Listen I just want to know if you can really smell whats in mud?? Cos I've been following this guy Are you listening to me I can't believe it I get my ass blown off for yu and you can't even nod How about winking Get down on the floor. On the floor now. Get down now. Nobody move. On the ground -- keep your head down. Get down. Get down there. Get on the floor. Stay on the floor. Shut up! Get out of my way. Here it is. Get back down. On the floor. Cops do not live in areas like this.

Most people we bust won't live here. Fraser: Why? It's central, convenient. I could walk to work in seven minutes. Vecchio: Not without backup. Fraser: It's just up on the right. Vecchio: Do me a favor. Let's just turn around. I'll take you back to your hotel. Fraser: Oh I can't. I checked out. The windows wouldn't open. Vecchio: Fraser, this is Chicago, the only reason to open a window is to get a better aim. Decorative graffiti motifs, the cleaver use of plumbing to create the waterfall effect and the ease and convenience of being able to dump your garbage right into the hall.

Fraser: I forgot to ask if they take pets. Vecchio: Oh yeah. A dog could easily throw off the delicately balanced ecosystem.