Part 29 (2/2)

”You forget how the affair began,” said Sam. ”Suppose the Porsslanese had sent us missionaries to teach us their religion, and these missionaries had gradually got possession of land and also some local power of governing, and then we had ruthlessly murdered some of them and they had seized all our ports for the purpose of benefiting us, do you suppose that we would have risen like those miserable Fencers and ma.s.sacred anybody? It is inconceivable. They have the strangest aversion to foreigners too.”

”Some of them haven't,” said Cleary. ”Chung Tu is a friendly old soul, if he is cracked. He says he believes the Powers have been turned loose on his country to punish them for having invented gunpowder. He laughs at Cope's inventions. He says his people set the fas.h.i.+on, and then wisely stopped when they found that such inventions did more harm than good. I think they have a right to complain of us. Why, there's one of our soldiers in the steerage with seventeen of their pigtails with the scalps still fastened to them as trophies! Old Chung says our ribbons and decorations are the equivalent of the scalps dangling at a savage's belt. I didn't tell him we had the genuine article. But, come, you had better turn in. You'll have a hard day to-morrow. I've advertised your coming for all I was worth, and if they don't give you a send-off at St. Kisco, it isn't my fault. I'm glad you're well enough to stand it.”

”I'm not as well as I look,” said Sam. ”I've lost all my nerve. I'm even worrying a little about all my loot in those cases in the hold. It sometimes seems that I oughtn't to have taken it.”

”What!” cried Cleary. ”Well, you are getting squeamis.h.!.+ After all the fellows you've killed or had killed, I shouldn't mind an ornament or two.”

”Killing is a soldier's main business,” said Sam. ”Oh, well, I suppose looting is, too. I won't think anything more about it. Good-night.”

While Sam and his friend were conversing on deck, another conversation which was to have a portentous effect upon the former's destiny was taking place in the upper corridor of the Peckham Young Ladies'

Seminary at St. Kisco.

”He's perfectly lovely,” said a young lady, standing barefoot before her door in her night-dress to a group of young ladies similarly attired. ”I've got his photograph. And I'm not just going to stand still and see him pa.s.s. It's all very well to have the school drawn up in line on the wharf--that's better than nothing--but I want something more, and I'm going to have it.”

”What will you do, Sally?” they all cried.

”I'm going to kiss him--there!” said she.

”Oh, Sally!”

”Yes, I will too.”

”I believe she will if she says so,” said one of the girls. ”She won't stop at anything. Well, Sally Watson, if you kiss him, I will to.”

”And I!” ”And I!” exclaimed the others; but at that moment a step was heard on the stairs, and the Peckham young ladies sought their beds and pretended very hard to be asleep, altho their hearts were thumping against their ribs at the mere thought of their daring resolution.

It was at ten o'clock the next morning that the steamer came alongside the wharf. The city was in gala dress and flags waved everywhere. The day was observed almost as a holiday, and many schools permitted their pupils to take part in the procession which awaited the arrival of Captain Jinks, as Sam was now commonly known in his native land. A reception was arranged for him at the City Hall, and the Mayor came down to the steamer in a carriage with four horses to escort him thither. From the deck Sam could see a banner stretched across the street, on which was an inscription to the ”Hero of San Diego, the Subduer of the Moritos, the Capturer of Gomaldo, the Conqueror of the Great White Temple, and the Friend and Instructor of the Emperor.” A few months before, Sam would have enjoyed this display without alloy, but now his health was really shattered, and in the bottom of his heart he felt that he was unworthy of it all, for he was not the perfect soldier he had believed he was, and under his uniform beat the heart of a vulgar civilian. His military instincts had their limit; his obedience could only be relied upon under certain circ.u.mstances. He was a mere amateur, and had no claim to rank as a military hero at all.

A swarm of reporters settled down upon General Jinks as soon as they could get on board, insisting upon having his opinion as to the growth of the city since he had seen it, the superiority of its climate to that of any part of the world, and the beauty of its women. Sam answered all these questions satisfactorily, and surrendered himself to the committee of citizens who had come on deck to welcome him. His luggage was pa.s.sed without delay by the Custom House officials, and he was conducted down the wharf toward the carriage which awaited him.

With true chivalry young ladies' schools had been given the best positions on the wharf, and Sam soon found himself pa.s.sing through a double row of pretty girls. He could hear such remarks as this:

”Isn't he good-looking!”

”What a lovely uniform!”

”Hasn't he got a fascinating limp!”

”How pale he is!”

”He does look just like a hero.”

Sam flushed slightly at these comments, but suddenly, before he had time to collect his thoughts, a slight form sprang forward from the left and an inviting face presented itself to his, and with the words, ”May I, please?” a hearty kiss was planted on his lips. Sam had no time to decline, if he had wished to. A murmur of surprise and delight arose from the crowd, and in another moment another damsel rushed upon him, and then another and another. Before long he was the center of a throng of elbowing young ladies of all kinds, fair, plain, and indifferent, all bent upon giving him a kiss. Sam had indeed lost his nerve; for the first time in his life he capitulated absolutely and let the attacking party work its sweet will. It was with great difficulty that he was rescued by the reception committee and finally seated next to the Mayor in the landau.

”What a lot of cab-drivers you have there on the wharf!” said Sam to the Mayor, after their first greetings. ”I never saw so many. Hear them crying out to the pa.s.sengers coming ash.o.r.e!”

”They're not cab-drivers,” he answered. ”They're pension agents.

They're not crying 'Want a cab?' but 'Want a pension?'”

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