Love Your Enemies

During one of Mr. McKinley’s congressional campaigns he was followed from place to place by a reporter for a paper of the opposite political party. The reporter was one of those shrewd, persistent fellows who are always at work, quick to see an opportunity, and skilled in making the most of it. While Mr. McKinley was annoyed by the misrepresentation to which he was almost daily subjected, he could not help admiring the skill and tenacity with which he was assailed. His admiration, too, was not unmixed with compassion—the reporter was ill, poorly clad, and had an annoying cough. One night Mr. McKinley took a closed carriage to a nearby town at which it had been announced he would speak. The weather was wretchedly raw and cold. He had not gone far when he heard that cough and knew that the reporter was riding with the driver in the exposed seat. McKinley called to the driver to stop so he could get out. “Get down off that seat, young man,” he said. The reporter obeyed, thinking the time for the major’s vengeance had come. “Here,” said Mr. McKinley, taking off his overcoat, “You put on this overcoat and get into the carriage.” “But Major McKinley,” said the reporter, “I guess you don’t know who I am. I have been with you the whole campaign, giving it to you every time you spoke, and I am going over tonight to rip you to pieces if I can.” “I know,” said Mr. McKinley, “but you put on this coat, and get inside and get warm, so that you can do a good job.”