Part 20 (1/2)

Jealousy and faction had endeavored for years to remove him from his position at the head of the army on account of age. New governments decided as they came in that he must go, and they went out with him still in the saddle. He worked fourteen hours a day, took no holidays and little exercise, violated the rules of health, and never appeared at gold-braid functions. The business of official display, as he said pungently, he delegated to that specialist, his handsome vice-chief of staff.

He had set up no silhouette of a charging soldier peppered with bullet marks on the wall of his office, for this was a picture that he carried in his mind. Pertinent to his own taste, under the glance of the portraits of the old heroes, was a little statuette of a harvester called Toil on his desk.

”That's the fellow we're defending,” he would say, becoming almost rhapsodical. ”I like to think back to him. He's the infantry before you put him in uniform.”

Let officers apply themselves with conspicuous energy and they heard from a genial Partow; let officers only keep step and free of courts martial, and they heard from a merciless taskmaster. Resign, please, if you like a leisurely life, he told the idlers; and he had a way of making them so uncomfortable that they would take the advice. Among the sons of rest who had retired to mourn over the world going to the devil he was referred to as not being a gentleman, which amused him; some said that he was crazy, which amused him even more.

Peculiarly human, peculiarly dictatorial, dynamic, and inscrutable was Partow, who never asked any one under him to work harder than himself.

Lanstron appeared in the presence of Jove shortly after eight o'clock the next morning after he left La Tir. Jove rolled his big head on his short neck in a nod and said:

”Late!”

”The train was late, sir!”

”And you have disobeyed orders!” grumbled Partow.

”Disobeyed orders? How, sir?”

”And you look me in the eye as you always do! You think that excuses you, perhaps?”

”No, sir. But I am bound to ask what orders?”

”Well, not orders, but my instructions; at least, my desire. Flying yourself--directing a manoeuvre--racing the Grays!”

”You heard about it?”

”I hear about everything! I have told you not to risk your life. Lives are a.s.sets of various kinds in an army. It is my business to determine the relative value of those of my subordinates. You are not to sacrifice yours.”

”I haven't yet, sir. I have it with me this morning,” Lanstron replied, ”and I have some news about our thousandth chance.”

”Hm-m! What is it?” asked Partow. When Lanstron had told the story, Partow worked his lips in a way he had if he were struck by a pa.s.sing reflection which might or might not have a connection with the subject in hand. ”Strange about her when you consider who her parents were!” he said. ”But you never know. His son,” nodding to Toil, ”might be a great painter or a sn.o.b. Miss Galland has an idea--that's something--and character and a brain making arrows so fast that she shoots them into the blue just for mental relief. She's quite a woman. If I were thirty, and single, I believe I'd fall in love with her. But don't you dare tell Mrs. Partow. I want the fun of telling her myself. Hm-m! Why don't you sit down, young man?”

Partow turned his thick, white palm toward a chair, and his smile, now clearly showing that he was not deeply offended with Lanstron's insubordination, had a singular charm. The smile vanished as Lanstron seated himself and in its place came such a look as friend Toil had seen on very rare occasions.

”The way that the Grays gave out our despatch convinces me of their intentions,” Partow said. ”Their people are rising to it and ours are rising in answer. The Grays have been transferring regiments from distant provinces to their frontier because they will fight better in an invasion. We are transferring home regiments to our frontier because they will fight for their own property. By Thursday you will find that open mobilization on both sides has begun.”

”My department is ready,” said Lanstron, ”all except your decision about press censors.h.i.+p.”

”A troublesome point,” responded Partow. ”I have procrastinated because two definite plans were fully worked out. It is a matter of choice between them: either publicity or complete secrecy. You know I am no believer in riding two horses at once. My mind is about made up; but let me hear your side again. Sometimes I get conviction by probing another mans.”

Lanstron was at his best, for his own conviction was intense.

”Of course they will go in for secrecy; but our case is different,” he began.

Partow settled himself to listen with the gift of the organizer who draws from his informant the brevity of essentials.

”I should take the people into our confidence,” Lanstron proceeded. ”I should make them feel that we were one family fighting for all we hold dear against the invader. If our losses are heavy, if we have a setback, then the inspiration of the heroism of those who have fallen and the danger of their own homes feeling the foot of the invader next will impel the living to greater sacrifices. For the Grays are in the wrong.

The moral and the legal right is with us.”

”And the duty of men like you and me, chosen for the purpose,” said Partow, ”is worthily to direct the courage that goes with moral right.

The overt act of war must come from them by violating our frontier, not in the African jungle but here. Even when the burglar fingers the window-sash we shall not fire--no, not until he enters our house. When he does, you would have a message go out to our people that will set them quivering with indignation?”