Part 4 (1/2)
Only in secret Standish railed against Aintree. When his brother policemen gossiped and jested about him, out of loyalty to the army he remained silent. But in his heart he could not forgive. The man he had so generously envied, the man after whose career he had wished to model his own, had voluntarily stepped from his pedestal and made a swine of himself. And not only could he not forgive, but as day after day Aintree furnished fresh food for his indignation he felt a fierce desire to punish.
Meanwhile, of the conduct of Aintree, men older and wiser, if less intolerant than Standish, were beginning to take notice. It was after a dinner on Ancon Hill, and the women had left the men to themselves.
They were the men who were placing the Panama Ca.n.a.l on the map. They were officers of the army who for five years had not worn a uniform.
But for five years they had been at war with an enemy that never slept.
Daily they had engaged in battle with mountains, rivers, swamps, two oceans, and disease. Where Aintree commanded five hundred soldiers, they commanded a body of men better drilled, better disciplined, and in number half as many as those who formed the entire army of the United States. The mind of each was occupied with a world problem. They thought and talked in millions--of millions of cubic yards of dirt, of millions of barrels of cement, of millions of tons of steel, of hundreds of millions of dollars, of which latter each received enough to keep himself and his family just beyond the reach of necessity. To these men with the world waiting upon the outcome of their endeavor, with responsibilities that never relaxed, Aintree's behavior was an incident, an annoyance of less importance than an overturned dirt train that for five minutes dared to block the completion of their work. But they were human and loyal to the army, and in such an infrequent moment as this, over the coffee and cigars, they could afford to remember the junior officer, to feel sorry for him, for the sake of the army, to save him from himself.
”He takes his orders direct from the War Department,” said the chief.
”I've no authority over him. If he'd been one of my workmen I'd have s.h.i.+pped him north three months ago.”
”That's it,” said the surgeon, ”he's not a workman. He has nothing to do, and idleness is the curse of the army. And in this climate--”
”Nothing to do!” snorted the civil administrator. ”Keeping his men in hand is what he has to do! They're running amuck all over Panama, getting into fights with the Spiggoty police, bringing the uniform into contempt. As for the climate, it's the same climate for all of us.
Look at Butler's marines and Barber's Zone police. The climate hasn't hurt them. They're as smart men as ever wore khaki. It's not the climate or lack of work that ails the Thirty-third, it's their commanding officer. 'So the colonel, so the regiment.' That's as old as the hills. Until Aintree takes a brace, his men won't. Some one ought to talk to him. It's a shame to see a fine fellow like that going to the dogs because no one has the courage to tell him the truth.”
The chief smiled mockingly.
”Then why don't you?” he asked.
”I'm a civilian,” protested the administrator. ”If I told him he was going to the dogs he'd tell me to go to the devil. No, one of you army men must do it. He'll listen to you.”
Young Captain Haldane of the cavalry was at the table; he was visiting Panama on leave as a tourist. The chief turned to him.
”Haldane's the man,” he said. ”You're his friend and you're his junior in rank, so what you say won't sound official. Tell him people are talking; tell him it won't be long before they'll be talking in Was.h.i.+ngton. Scare him!”
The captain of cavalry smiled dubiously.
”Aintree's a hard man to scare,” he said. ”But if it's as bad as you all seem to think, I'll risk it. But, why is it,” he complained, ”that whenever a man has to be told anything particularly unpleasant they always pick on his best friend to tell him? It makes them both miserable. Why not let his bitterest enemy try it? The enemy at least would have a fine time.”
”Because,” said the chief, ”Aintree hasn't an enemy in the world--except Aintree.”
The next morning, as he had promised, Haldane called upon his friend.
When he arrived at Las Palmas, although the morning was well advanced toward noon, he found Aintree still under his mosquito bars and awake only to command a drink. The situation furnished Haldane with his text. He expressed his opinion of any individual, friend or no friend, officer or civilian, who on the Zone, where all men begin work at sunrise, could be found at noon still in his pajamas and preparing to face the duties of the day on an absinth c.o.c.ktail. He said further that since he had arrived on the isthmus he had heard only of Aintree's misconduct, that soon the War Department would hear of it, that Aintree would lose his commission, would break the backbone of a splendid career.
”It's a friend talking,” continued Haldane, ”and you know it! It's because I am your friend that I've risked losing your friends.h.i.+p! And, whether you like it or not, it's the truth. You're going down-hill, going fast, going like a motor-bus running away, and unless you put on the brakes you'll smas.h.!.+”
Aintree was not even annoyed.
”That's good advice for the right man,” he granted, ”but why waste it on me? I can do things other men can't. I can stop drinking this minute, and it will mean so little to me that I won't know I've stopped.”
”Then stop,” said Haldane.
”Why?” demanded Aintree. ”I like it. Why should I stop anything I like? Because a lot of old women are gossiping? Because old men who can't drink green mint without dancing turkey-trots think I'm going to the devil because I can drink whiskey? I'm not afraid of whiskey,” he laughed tolerantly. ”It amuses me, that's all it does to me; it amuses me.” He pulled back the coat of his pajamas and showed his giant chest and shoulder. With his fist he struck his bare flesh and it glowed instantly a healthy, splendid pink.
”See that!” commanded Aintree. ”If there's a man on the isthmus in any better physical shape than I am, I'll--” He interrupted himself to begin again eagerly. ”I'll make you a sporting proposition,” he announced ”I'll fight any man on the isthmus ten rounds--no matter who he is, a wop laborer, shovel man, Barbadian n.i.g.g.e.r, marine, anybody--and if he can knock me out I'll stop drinking. You see,” he explained patiently, ”I'm no mollycoddle or jelly-fish. I can afford a headache. And besides, it's my own head. If I don't give anybody else a headache, I don't see that it's anybody else's d.a.m.ned business.”
”But you do,” retorted Haldane steadily. ”You're giving your own men worse than a headache, you're setting them a rotten example, you're giving the Thirty-third a bad name-”
Aintree vaulted off his cot and shook his fist at his friend. ”You can't say that to me,” he cried.