There he lays aside his mask and you may learn whether he is an imp or an angel, cur or king, hero or humbug.
I care not what the world says of him: whether it crowns him boss or pelts him with bad eggs.
I care not a copper what his reputation or religion may be: if his babies dread his home-coming and his better half swallows her heart every time she has to ask him for a five-dollar bill, he is a fraud of the first water, even though he prays night and morning until he is black in the face and howls hallelujah until he shakes the eternal hills.
But if his children rush to the front door to meet him and loves sunshine illuminates the face of his wife every time she hears his foot-fall, you can take it for granted that he is pure, for his home is a heaven-and the humbug never gets that near the great white throne of God.
He may be a rank atheist and red-flag anarchist, a Mormon and a mugwump; he may buy votes in blocks of five, and bet on the elections; he may deal 'em from the bottom of the deck and drink beer until he can't tell a silver dollar from a circular saw, and still be an infinitely better man than the cowardly little humbug who is all suavity in society but who makes home a hell, who vents upon the helpless heads of his wife and children an ill nature he would inflict on his fellow men but dares not.
I can forgive much in that fellow mortal who would rather make men swear than women weep; who would rather have the hate of the whole world than the contempt of his wife; who would rather call anger to the eyes of a king than fear to the face of a child."
"A Man's Real Measure," by W.C. Brann
