Captain Jinks, Hero Ernest Howard Crosby (best management books of all time TXT) 📖

embezzlers,” cried Sam. “It ought to be a lesson to these Cubapinos. He’ll be sent home to be tried. They ought to do that with everyone caught robbing the mails in any way.”

“I’m afraid if they did the force would be pretty well crippled,” said Foster.

“Then there’s the custom house,” said Sam. “They must be delighted to get rid of those Castalian swindlers.”

“A merchant here told me,” said Foster, “that they have to pay just as often now, but that they have to pay bigger sums.”

“Of course,” cried Cleary, “you wouldn’t expect our people to bother with the little bribes the Castalians were after. We live on a larger scale. It will do these natives good to open their eyes to a real nation. I’m sorry any of them steal, but if they do, let ’em take a lot and be done with it.”

“We must remember that these people are only civilians,” said Sam. “What can we expect of them?”

“Our commissary and quartermaster departments aren’t much better, though,” said Foster. “Somebody’s getting rich, to judge from the prices we pay and the stuff we get. The meat stinks, and the boots are made with glue instead of stitches and nails.”

“Then they must have been appointed from civil life,” cried Sam.

“Come, Sam,” said Cleary, “I’m a civilian now, and I’m not going to have you crow over us. How about Captain Peters, who was the pet of Whoppington and cleaned out the Deer Harbor fund?”

Sam walked on in silence.

“See here,” said Foster, “I’m tired of going on foot. Let’s take a cab. Here, you fellow!”

A two-wheeled wagon with an awning, drawn by a small, shaggy horse, drew up before them.

“There’s a gentleman in it,” said Sam. “We must wait for another.”

“Nonsense!” cried Foster in a loud voice. “You evidently are a new arrival. It’s only one of those monkeys. Here you, sir, get out of that!”

The native expostulated a little, shrugged his shoulders, and did as he was told, and the three men got in.

“I’m afraid he didn’t like it,” said Sam.

“Didn’t like it? What of it?” said Foster. “Whatever we do in uniform is official business, and we’ve got to impress these fellows with our power and make them respect us.”

They drove now through some narrow streets, past various native cafés half open to the air, where the habitués were beginning to collect, through a picturesque gate in the old city wall, and out on the Boulevard, which was now filled with people driving and walking. It was a gay scene, and reminded Cleary of some of the cities of the Mediterranean which he had visited.

“They’re not quite as much like Apaches as I expected,” said Sam, and neither of his friends ventured to respond.

“We haven’t got time to go out to where the ships are sunk,” said Foster, “but if we drive up that hill and get out and walk up a little farther we can see them in the distance. I’ve got my glasses with me.”

In a few minutes they were at this point of vantage in a sort of unfrequented public park, and the three men took turns in looking at the distant wrecks through the captain’s field-glass.

“It was a great victory, wasn’t it?” said Sam.

“Well, perhaps it was,” answered Foster; “but the fact is, that those old boats could hardly float and their guns couldn’t reach our ships. We just took our time and blew them up and set them on fire, and the crews were roasted or drowned, that was all there was of it. I don’t think much of naval men anyway, to tell the truth. They don’t compare with the army. They’re always running their ships aground if there’s any ground to run into.”

“Anyhow, if it had been a strong fleet we’d have wiped it out just the same, wouldn’t we?” said Sam.

“Undoubtedly,” said Foster. “It’s a pity, though, that the fight didn’t test our naval armaments better. It didn’t prove anything. If we’d only used our torpedo-boats, and they’d got out their torpedo-boat destroyers, and then we’d had some torpedo-boat-destroyer destroyers, and⁠—”

“Yes,” interrupted Cleary, “it is a pity.”

“But it wasn’t Admiral Hercules’s fault,” said Sam. “His glory ought to be just as great.”

“Hercules! Hercules!” shouted Foster. “What had Hercules to do with it? He’s a first-class fraud. It was Slewey who won the battle. You don’t mean to tell me that you are Hercules men?”

Sam and Cleary tried in vain to explain their position, but Foster would not listen to them. The breach evidently was irreparable. He magnanimously turned over the cab to them, and went back to the city in another vehicle.

“Well, this is strange,” said Sam. “I liked everything about Captain Foster, but I don’t understand this.”

“Oh, you will though, old man,” said Cleary. “I’ve found out this morning that it’s the same thing all through the army and navy here. They’re hardly any of them on speaking terms. If it isn’t one thing it’s another. It’s the Whoppington fashion, that’s all. The general of the army won’t speak to the adjutant-general there, and they’re always smuggling bills into Congress to retire each other, and that spirit runs all the way down through both services. I’m a civilian now, and I can see with a little perspective. I don’t know why military people are always squabbling like the women in an old ladies’ home. No other professions do; it’s queer. It’s getting to be better to lose a battle than to win it, for then you don’t have to fight for a year or two to find out who won it.”

Sam entered a feeble protest against Cleary’s criticisms, and the two relapsed into silence.

“Who did win that naval victory anyhow?” said Sam at last.

“That’s just what I’d like to know,” responded Cleary. “One of the admirals admits he wasn’t there, and, if we are to believe the naval people, the other one spent most of his time dodging around the smokestack. But I think they’re a little too hard on