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

as his guide. It was a long walk through corridors and passages and up winding stairs to Sam’s apartment, and Cleary questioned the doctor as they went.

“Captain Jinks is a dear fellow,” said the doctor in response to his inquiries. “We are all fond of him. At first he was a little intractable and denied our right to direct him, but now that we’ve got it all down on a military basis, he will do anything we tell him. I believe he would walk out of the window if I ordered him too. But I have to put on a military coat to make him obey. We keep one on purpose. As soon as he sees it on anybody he’s as obedient as a child. He’s such a perfect gentleman, too. It’s a very sad case. Here’s his room.”

The doctor knocked.

“Who goes there?” cried a husky voice, which Cleary hardly recognized as Sam’s.

“A friend,” answered the doctor.

“Advance, friend, and give the countersign,” said the same voice.

“Old Gory!” cried the doctor, with most unmilitary emphasis, and he opened the door and they entered.

Cleary saw what seemed to be the shadow of Sam, pale, haggard, and emaciated, sitting in a shabby undress uniform before a large deal table. Upon the table was a most elaborate arrangement of books and blocks of wood, apparently representing fortifications, which were manned by a dilapidated set of lead soldiers⁠—the earliest treasures of Sam’s boyhood, which had been sent to him from home at his request. Sam did not lift his eyes from the table, and moved the men about with his hand as if he were playing a game of chess.

“Here is a friend of yours to see you, Captain,” said the doctor.

Sam slowly raised his head and looked at Cleary for some time without recognizing him. Gradually a faint smile made its appearance.

“I know you,” he said in the same strained voice. “I know you. You’re⁠—”

“Cleary,” said Cleary.

“Cleary? Cleary? Let me see. Why, to be sure, you’re Cleary.” And he rose from his chair unsteadily and took the hand that Cleary offered him.

“How are you, old man? I’m so glad to see you again,” said Cleary.

“And so am I,” said Sam, who now seemed to be almost his old self again. “Sit down.”

Cleary drew up a chair to the table, while the doctor retired and shut the door.

“How are you getting on?” said Cleary. “You’re going to get well soon, aren’t you?”

“I am well now,” said Sam. “I was awfully ill, I know that, but it all came from my mind. I think I told you that. My heart was breaking because I couldn’t be a perfect soldier. I had to face the question and grapple with it. It was an awful experience; I can’t bear to speak of it or even think of it. But I won. I’m a perfect soldier now! I can do anything with my men here, and I will obey any order I receive, I don’t care what it is.”

As he spoke of his experience a pained expression came over his face, but he looked proud and almost happy when he announced the result of the conflict.

“They say I’m a lunatic, I know they do,” he continued, looking round to see that no one else was present, and lowering his voice to a whisper. “They say I’m a lunatic, but I’m not. When they say I’m a lunatic they mean I’m a perfect soldier⁠—a complete soldier. And they call those fine fellows lead soldiers! Lunatics and lead soldiers indeed! Well, suppose we are! I tell you an army of lead soldiers with a lunatic at the head would be the best army in the world. We do what we’re told, and we’re not afraid of anything.”

Sam stopped talking at this juncture and went on for some time in silence maneuvering his troops. Finally he picked up the colonel with the white plume, and a ray of light from the afternoon sun fell upon it, and he held it before him, gazing upon it entranced. The door opened, and the doctor entered.

“I fear you must go now, Mr. Cleary. He can’t stand much excitement. He’s quiet now. Just come out with me without saying anything,” and Cleary followed him out of the room, while Sam sat motionless with his eyes fixed on his talisman.

“He sits like that for hours,” said the doctor. “It’s a kind of hypnotism, I think, which we don’t quite understand yet. I am writing up the case for The Medical Gazette. It’s a peculiar kind of insanity, this preoccupation with uniforms and soldiers, and the readiness to do anything a man in regimentals tells him to.”

“It’s rather more common, perhaps, out of asylums than in them,” muttered Cleary, but the doctor did not hear him. “Do you think he will ever recover, doctor?” he continued.

The doctor shook his head ominously.

“And will he live to old age in this condition?”

“He might, if there were nothing else the matter with him, but there is, and perhaps it’s a fortunate thing. He’s got a new disease called filariasis, a sort of low fever that he picked up in the Cubapines or Porsslania. There’s a good deal of it among the soldiers who have come back. We have a lot of lunatics from the army here and several of them have this new fever too. It wouldn’t kill him alone, either, but the two things together will surely carry him off. He will hardly live another half-year.”

“I suppose his family is looking out for him?” said Cleary.

“His mother visits him pretty regularly, and his father comes sometimes,” said the doctor, “but I think his wife has only been here twice. And she’s living at East Point, too, only an hour or two away. She’s a born flirt, and I think she’s tired of him. I’m told that one of this year’s graduates there, a fellow named Saunders, is paying attention to her, and when the poor captain dies, I doubt if