War and Business
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Marian Hunter was, as we have already surmised, a lady of experience.
She was possessed, as is not uncommonly the case with young ladies at
East Point, of an uncontrollable passion for things military. Manhood
and brass buttons were with her interconvertible terms, and the idea of
uniting her young life to a plain civilian seemed to her nothing less
than shocking. The pleasures of her first two or three summers at East
Point and of her first half-dozen engagements had partaken of the bliss
of heaven. The engagements had never been broken off, they had simply
dissolved one into the other, and she had felt herself rising from step
to step in happiness. Naturally her conquests filled her with a supreme
confidence in her charms. She was not especially fickle by nature, but
she discovered that a first-class cadet, particularly if he was an
officer and had black feathers in his full-dress hat, was far more
attractive to think of than a supernumerary second lieutenant assigned
to duty in some Western garrison. Gradually, however, she found herself
less certain of winning whom she would. The competition of young girls
some two or three years her junior became threatening. She was obliged
to give up cadet officers for privates, and then first-class privates
for third-class privates, as the hotel waiter had explained to Sam. At
the time of Sam's arrival at the Point she was having more difficulty
than ever before, and she became thoroughly frightened. She took up
with Saunders because he alone came her way, but the engagement was a
poor makeshift, and she could not get up any enthusiasm over it. She
could hardly pretend to be in love with him, and she felt conscious
that she had a foolish prejudice in favor of straight noses. What was
she to do? If she was to marry at all in the army--and how could she
marry anywhere else?--she must soon make up her mind. Her experience
now stood her in good stead. Had she not seen these very first-class
cadet officers only three years before as mere despised "beasts," doing
all kinds of drudgery for their oppressors? Had she not seen her
_fiance_, Saunders, himself, a short twelvemonth ago, with nose intact,
slinking like a pariah about the post? She had learned the lesson which
the younger girls had yet to learn, that from these unpromising
chrysalises the most gorgeous butterflies emerge, and like a wise woman
she began to study the fourth class. Sam stood out from his fellows,
not indeed as supremely handsome, altho he was not bad-looking, but
rather as the soldier _par excellence_ of his class. Marian was an
expert in judging the points of a soldier, and she saw at once that he
was the coming man. She could not make his acquaintance or speak to
him, but she could smile and thus lay the foundations of success for
next year. It would be easy thus to reach the heart of a lonely
"beast." And she smiled to a purpose, and it was that smile that won
the untried affections of Sam Jinks.
When June at last came and the new fourth-class men began to arrive,
Sam felt a new life surge into his soul. For a year he had been duly
meek and humble, for such it behooved a fourth-class man to be. Now,
however, he began to entertain a measureless pride, such being the
proper frame of mind of a man in the upper classes. He watched the
hotel sedulously to learn when Miss Hunter had made her appearance. One
morning he saw her, and she smiled more distinctly than ever. He knew
that his felicity was only a short way off. He must wait two weeks
until the graduation ball and the departure of the old first class;
then he could undertake to supplant the absent Saunders, who probably
knew the history of Miss Hunter and was not unprepared for his fate.
Meanwhile great events had occurred, and thrown East Point into a state
of excitement. The country was at war. Congress had determined to free
the downtrodden inhabitants of the Cubapine Islands from the tyranny of
the ancient Castalian monarchy. A call for volunteers had been issued,
and the graduating cadets were to be hurried to the seat of war. During
this agitation news arrived of a great naval victory. The mighty
Castalian fleet had been annihilated with great loss of life, while the
conquerors had not lost a man and had scarcely interrupted their
breakfast in order to secure this crushing triumph. It was in the midst
of such reports as these that the susceptible hearts of Sam Jinks and
Marian Hunter came together. The graduating class had gone, and Sam had
for two days been a full third-class man. For the first time he had
occupied the front rank at dress-parade, and seen clearly the officer
in command, the adjutant flitting about magnificently, the band
parading up and down and turning itself inside out around the towering
drum-major, the line of spectators behind, the bright faces and gay
parasols, and among them the black eyes of Marian looking unmistakably
at him. When at the end of the parade the company officers marched up
to salute and the companies were dismissed, Sam saw a member of the new
first class talking to her. He was now on an equality with all the
cadets, and he boldly advanced and asked for an introduction. At last
he had her hand in his, and as he pressed it rather harder than the
occasion warranted, he felt his pressure returned. Sam's fate was
sealed. He made no formal proposal, it was unnecessary. The engagement
was a thing taken for granted. It was a novel experience for Marian as
well as for Sam, as now for the first time she meant business. It is
impossible in cold ink to reproduce the ecstasies of those many hours
on Flirtation Walk, during which Sam opened his heart. For the first
time in his life he had found a person as deeply interested in military
matters as he was, and as much in love with military glory. He told her
his whole history, including the lead soldiers and the Boys' Brigade.
He laid bare to her his ambition to be a perfect soldier--a hero. He
told her how disappointed he was to find no other cadet so completely
wrapped up in his profession as he was, and how in her alone he had now
realized his ideal not only of womanhood, but also of appreciation of
the soldier's career. He rehearsed the thrilling experiences of hazing,
and went over the fight in detail and told her how Saunders had brought
it about.
"The horrid wretch!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms about his neck
and kissing him. "I'm so glad they didn't break your nose."
"Are you really?" he asked, and as he read the truth in her eyes a
weight was rolled from his soul.
He showed her the little lead officer with the plume, which he always
carried as a mascot in his breast-pocket, and also the two hazing
photographs which kept it company. She was delighted with them all.
"Oh! you will be a hero," she cried. "I am sure of it, and what a time
we shall have of it, you dear thing!"
With his spare time thus occupied Sam did not see much of Cleary,
who now shared another tent. One afternoon late in September he was
on the way to the gate of the hotel grounds where he was accustomed
to wait until Miss Hunter came out and joined him, when Cleary called
him aside.
"Sam," he said, "I've got something of importance to say to you. Can't
you come with me now?"
"Can't," said Sam. "Miss Hunter's waiting for me."
"Well, then, beg off to-morrow afternoon. I must have a long talk
with you."
"All right," answered Sam reluctantly. "If I must, I must, I suppose."
The next day found Sam and Cleary walking alone in the woods engaged in
deep conversation.
"Sam, what would you say to going to the war?" asked Cleary.
"I'd give anything to go!" exclaimed Sam.
"You wouldn't want to stay on account of that girl of yours?"
"No, indeed; she would be the first to want me to go."
"Then why don't you go?"
"How can I?" said Sam. "We've got three more years here. That ties us
down for that time, and by the time that's over the war will be over
too."
"That's what I think, and I'm sick of this place anyhow. I'm going to
resign."
"Resign!" cried Sam. "Resign and give up your career!"
"Not altogether, old man. Don't get so excited. What's the use of
staying here? We'll get sent off to some out-of-the-way post when we
graduate, and perhaps we'll get to be captains before our hair is
white, and perhaps we shan't; and then if a war breaks out we'll have
volunteers young enough to be our sons made brigadiers over our heads.
Aren't they doing it every day? I'm not going to waste my life that
way. I want to go to the war now, and I mean to go as a newspaper
correspondent."
"Oh, Cleary!" exclaimed Sam reproachfully.
"Tut, tut, Sam. You're not up to date. We've got no field-marshals in
our army and the newspaper correspondents take their place. Their names
are better known than the generals, and they advertise each other and
get a big share of the glory; and then they can always decently step
aside when they've got enough. They needn't stay on the fighting-line,
and that's a consideration. No, I'm sick of ordinary soldiering, but
I'm willing to be a field-marshal. My father has an interest in the
_Metropolitan Daily Lyre_, and I've written to him for an appointment
as correspondent in the Cubapines. What I've learned here will help me
a lot. But I want you to go with me."
"Me? Go with you? Do you think I'd be a newspaper correspondent?"
"No, of course not. It never entered my head. But why don't you get a
commission in the volunteers from your uncle? He can get just what he
wants, and they're talking of him for Secretary of War. All you've got
to do is to resign here and apply for a commission as colonel. Then
you'll probably land as a major, or a captain at any rate. By the time
the war is over, you'll be a general, if I know you, and then you can
be appointed captain in the regular army on retiring from the
volunteers, when our class is just graduating. You're just made for a
successful soldier. You've got the ambition and the courage, and you've
got just the brains for a soldier. You don't want to remain a
lieutenant until you are fifty, do you?"
There was great force in Cleary's argument, and Sam knew it. East
Pointers were scandalized at the manner in which outsiders were
jumped into important commands in the field, and when engagements
took place the volunteers came in for all the praise, while the
regulars who did almost all the work were hardly mentioned.
"I'll think it over," said Sam. "I'll speak to Marian about it. It's very
kind of you to think of me."
"Not a bit," said Cleary. "I'm looking out for myself. If you go as a
major and I go as correspondent, I'll just freeze to you and make a
hero of you whether you will or not. I'll make your fortune, and you'll
make mine. I'll see that you get a chance, and I know that you'll take
it if you get it. You're just cut out for it. Now get permission from
the young woman and we'll call it a go."
The following afternoon Sam walked over the same ground, but this time
it was Marian who accompanied him. She was enthusiastic over Cleary's
proposition.
"Just think of it! You'll come back a hero and a general, and I don't
know what not, and we'll get married, and the President will come to
the wedding; and then we'll have our wedding tour up here, and the
corps will turn out and fire a salute, and we'll be the biggest people
at East Point. Won't it be splendid?"
"Perhaps, dear, I'll never come back at all. Who knows? I may get
killed."
"Oh, Sam! if you did, how proud I'd be of it. I'd wear black for a
whole year, and they'd put up a monument to you over there in the
cemetery and have a grand funeral, and I'd be in the first carriage,
and the flag would be draped, and the band would play the funeral
march. Oh, dear! how grand it would be, and how all the girls would
envy me!"
Tears came to her eyes as she spoke.
"Just think of being the _fiancee_ of a hero who died for his country!
Oh, Sam, Sam!"
Sam took her in his arms.
"You're my own brave soldier's wife," he said. "I'd be almost ready to
die for you, but if I don't, I'll come back and marry you. I'll write
to uncle for a commission to-night, and ask his advice about resigning
here either now or later. It hardly seems true that I may really go to
a real war." And his tears fell and mingled with hers.
Sam's uncle fell in readily with Cleary's scheme. He was a politician
and a man of the world, and he saw what an advantage it would be for
his nephew to seek promotion in the volunteers, and how much a close
friend among the war correspondents could help him. Furthermore, he had
heard of Sam's excellent record at East Point and was disposed to lend
him what aid could be derived from his influence with the
Administration. When Sam's father learned that his brother approved of
the project, he offered no objection, and a few weeks after Cleary had
broached the subject, both of the young men sent in their resignations,
and these were accepted. Cleary left at once for the metropolis to
perfect his plans, while Sam remained for a few days at the Point to
bid farewell to his betrothed. His uncle had at once sent in his name
to the War Department as a candidate for colonel of volunteers with
letters of recommendation from the most influential men at the Capital.
While Sam was still at East Point he saw in the daily paper that his
name had been sent in to the Senate as captain of volunteers with a
long list of others, and almost immediately he received a telegram
from his uncle announcing his confirmation without question. On the
same morning came a letter from Cleary telling him to come at once to
town and make the final arrangements before receiving orders to join
his regiment. We shall draw a veil over the last interview between Sam
and Marian. She was proficient in the art of saying farewell, and
nothing was lacking on this occasion to contribute to its romantic
effect. They parted in tears, but they were tears of hope and joy.
Cleary met Sam at the station in the city and took him to a modest
hotel.
"It's going to be bigger thing than I thought," he said, as they sat
down together for a good talk in the hotel lobby, after Sam had made
himself at home in his room. "I'm going to run a whole combination.
I've got in with a man who's a real genius. His name's Jonas. He
represents the brewers' trust, and he's going out to start saloons with
chattel mortgages on the fixtures. It's a big thing by itself. But then
besides that he's got orders to apply for street-railroad franchises
wherever he can get them, and he is going to start agencies to sell
typewriters and bicycles and some patent medicines, and I don't know
what else. You see he wanted to represent the Consolidated Press as a
sort of business agent, and _The Daily Lyre_ belongs to the
Consolidated, and that's the way I came across him. The fact is he
represents pretty much all the capital in the country. It's a big
combination. I'll boom him and you, and you'll help us, and then we can
get in on the ground floor with him in anything we like. It's a good
outlook, isn't it, hey? Have you got your commission yet?"
"No," said Sam, "not yet. My uncle wants me to come and spend a few
days with him at Slowburgh to make my acquaintance, and the commission
will go there. I'm to be in the 200th Volunteer Infantry. I don't quite
understand all your plans, but I hope I'll get a chance at real
fighting for our country, and I should like to be a great soldier. You
know that, Cleary."
"Yes, old man, I know it, and you will be, if courage and newspapers
can do it. I'm sorry you didn't get a colonelcy, but captain isn't
bad, and we'll skip you up to general in no time. You've always wanted
to be a hero, haven't you? Well, the first chance I get I'll nickname
you 'Hero' Jinks, and it'll stick, I'll answer for it!"
"Oh! thank you," said Sam.
"Now, good-by. I'll come in for you to-morrow and take you in to see
our war editor. He's a daisy. So long."
When on the morrow Sam was ushered into the den of the war editor, he
was surprised to see what a shabby room it was. The great man was
sitting at a desk which was almost hidden under piles of papers,
letters, telegrams, and memoranda. The chairs in the room were equally
encumbered, and he had to empty the contents of two of them on the
floor before Sam and Cleary could sit down.
"Ah, Captain Jinks, glad to see you!" he said.
Sam beamed with delight. It was the first time that he had heard his
new title--a title, in fact, to which he had as yet no right.
"I suppose Mr. Cleary has explained to you," the editor continued, "what
our designs are. Editing isn't what it used to be. It has become a very
complicated business. In old times we took the news as it came along,
and that was all that was expected of us; but if we tried that way of
doing things now, we'd have to shut up shop in a week. When we need
news nowadays we simply make it. I don't mean that we invent news--that
doesn't pay in the long run; people learn your game and you lose in the
end. No, I mean that we create the events that make the news. We were
running short of news last year, that's the whole truth of it; and so
we got up this war. It's been a complete success. We've quadrupled our
circulation, and it's doubling every month. We're well ahead of the
other papers because it's known as our war, and of course we are
expected to know more about it than anybody else."
"But I thought the war was to free the oppressed Cubapinos--an outburst
of popular sympathy with the downtrodden sufferers from Castalian
misrule," interposed Sam, flushing. "That's the reason why I applied
for a commission, and I am ready to pour out my last drop of blood for
my country."
"Of course you are, my dear captain; of course you are. And your ideas
of the cause of the war, as a military man, are quite correct. Indeed,
if you will read my editorial of yesterday you will see the same ideas
developed at some length."
He pressed an electric button on his desk, and a clerk entered.
"Get me a copy of yesterday's paper."
In a moment it was brought; the editor opened it, marked an article
with a dash of his blue pencil, and handed it to Sam.
"There," said he, "put that in your pocket and read it. I am sure that
you will agree with every word of it. Your understanding of the
situation does great credit to your insight. That is, if I may use the
term, the esoteric side of the question. It is only on the external and
material side that it is really a _Daily Lyre's_ war. There's really
no contradiction, none at all, as you see."
"Oh! none at all," said Sam, with a sigh of relief. "I never quite
understood it before, and you make it all so clear!"
"Now you will be prepared by what I have said to comprehend that it's
just in this line of creating the news beforehand that we want to make
use of you, and at the same time it will be the making of you, do you
see?"
"Not quite," said Sam. "How do you mean?"
"Why, we understand that you're a most promising military man and that
you intend to distinguish yourself. Suppose you do, what good will it
do, if nobody ever hears of it? Doesn't your idea of heroism include a
certain degree of appreciation?"
"Yes."
"Of publicity, I may say?"
Sam nodded assent.
"Or even in plain newspaper talk, of advertising?"
"I shouldn't quite like to be advertised," said Sam uneasily.
"That's a rather blunt word, I confess; but when you do some fine
exploit, you wouldn't mind seeing it printed in full in the papers that
the people at home read, would you?"
"No-o-o, not exactly; but then I should only want you to tell the truth
about it."
"Of course; I know that, but there are lots of ways of telling the
truth. We might put it in at the bottom of an inside page and give only
a stick to it, or we might let it have the whole first page here, with
your portrait at the top and headlines like that"; and he showed him a
title in letters six inches long. "You'd prefer that, wouldn't you?"
"I'm afraid I would," said Sam.
"Well, if you didn't you'd be a blamed fool, that's all I've got to
say, and we wouldn't care to bother about you."
"I'm sure it's very good of you to take me up," said Sam. "Why do you
select me instead of one of the great generals at the front?"
"Why, don't you see? You wouldn't make a practical newspaper man. The
people are half tired of the names of the generals already. They want
some new names. It's our business to provide them. Then all the other
newspapers are on the track of the generals. We must have a little hero
of our own. When General Laughter or General Notice do anything, all
the press of the country have got hold of them. They've got their
photographs in every possible attitude and their biographies down to
the last detail, and pictures of their birthplaces and of their
families and ancestors, and all the rest of it. We simply can't get
ahead of them, and people are beginning to think that it's not our war
after all. When we begin to boom you, they'll find out that we've got a
mortgage on it yet. We'll have the stuff all ready here to fire off,
and no one else will have a word. It'll be the greatest beat yet,
unless Mr. Cleary is mistaken in you and you are not going to
distinguish yourself."
"I don't think he is mistaken," said Sam solemnly. "I do intend to
distinguish myself if I get the chance."
"And we'll see that you have the chance. It's a big game we're playing,
but we hold the cards and we don't often lose. You're not the only
card, to be sure. We've got a lot of men at the front now representing
us. Several of our correspondents have made a hit already, and some of
them have made themselves more famous than the generals! Ha, ha! Our
head editor is going out next month, and of course we'll see to it that
he does wonders. Hullo! there's Jonas now. Why, this is a lucky
meeting. Here, Jonas. You know Cleary. Mr. Jonas, Captain Jinks. I'll
be blessed if here isn't the whole combination."
Mr. Jonas, who had come into the room unannounced, and perched himself
on the corner of a table, was a rather short man with a brown beard and
eye-glasses, and wore his hat on the back of his head.
"Well, Jonas, how are things going?" asked the editor.
"A 1. Couldn't be better. I've just been down at Skinner's----"
"Skinner & Company, one of the biggest financial houses in the street,"
the editor explained to Sam.
"And they've agreed to go the whole job. First of all, it'll be chiefly
trade. I showed them the contracts for boots and hats for the army, and
they were tickled to death. They'll let us have as much as we want on
them. I didn't have the embalmed-beef contract with me--it smells too
bad to carry round in my pocket, hee-hee!--but I explained it to them,
and it's even better. They're quite satisfied."
"And how is the beer business going?"
"Oh! that's a success already. Look at this item," and he pulled a
newspaper from his pocket and showed it to the editor.
"One hundred more saloons in Havilla than there were at this time last
year! Can that be possible?" ejaculated the latter.
"Yes, and I'm behind fifty-eight of them. That agent I sent out ahead
is a jewel."
"Have you been up at the Bible Society?"
"Yes, and I've got special terms on a hundred thousand Testaments in
Castalian and the native languages. That will awaken interest, you see,
and then we'll follow it up with five hundred thousand in English, and
it will do no end of good in pushing the language. It will be made the
official language soon, anyway. What a blessing it will be to those
poor creatures who speak languages that nobody can understand!"
"How is the rifle deal coming out?"
"Only so-so. The Government will take about three-quarters of the lot.
The rest we'll have to unload on the Cubapinos."
"What!" exclaimed Sam, "aren't they fighting against us now?"
"Oh! we don't sell them direct of course," added Jonas, "but we can't
alter the laws of trade, can we? And they require that things get into
the hands of the people who'll pay the most for them, hey?"
"Naturally," said the editor. "Captain Jinks has not studied political
economy. It's all a matter of supply and demand."
"I'm ashamed to say I haven't," said Sam. "It must be very interesting,
and I'm much obliged to you for telling me about it."
"I suppose it's too early to do anything definite about concessions for
trolleys and gas and electric-lighting plants," said the editor.
"Not a bit of it. That's what I went to see Skinner about to-day. I'm
sounding some of the chief natives already, and our people there are
all right. Skinner's lawyers are at work at the charters, and I'll
take them out with me. We can put them through as soon as we annex
the islands."
"But we promised not to annex them!" cried Sam.
The editor and Jonas looked knowingly at each other.
"The captain is not a diplomatist, you see," said the former. "As for
that matter, a soldier oughtn't to be. You understand, Captain, that
all promises are made subject to the proviso that we are able to carry
them out."
"Certainly."
"Now it's perfectly clear that we can never fulfil this promise. It is
our destiny to stay there. It would be flying in the face of Providence
and doing the greatest injury to the natives to abandon them. They
would fly at each other's throats the moment we left them alone."
"They haven't flown at each other's throats where we have left them
alone," mused Sam aloud.
"I didn't say they had, but that they would," explained the editor.
"Oh! I see," said Sam, and he relapsed into silence.
"Talking of electric lights," continued Jonas, "I've got a book here
full of all sorts of electric things that we'll have to introduce
there. There's the electrocution chair; look at that design. They
garrote people in the most barbarous manner out there now. We'll
civilize them, if we get a chance!"
"Perhaps they won't have the money to buy all your things," remarked
Cleary, who had been a silent and interested spectator of the
interview.
"Yes," said Jonas, "we may have trouble with the poorest tribes. We
must make them want things, that's all. The best way to begin is to tax
them. I've got a plan ready for a hut-tax of five dollars a year.
That's little enough, I should think, but some of them never see money
and they'll have to work to get it. That will make them work the
coal-and iron-mines. Skinner has his eye on these, too. When the
natives once begin to earn money, they'll soon want more and then
they'll spend it on us."
"But the Government there will be too poor to take up great public
expenditures for a long time yet," said Cleary.
"Don't be too sure of that. They haven't even got a national debt.
That's one of the first things we'll provide for. They're a most
primitive people. Just think of their existing up to the present time
without a national debt! They're mere savages."
"Well," said Cleary, rising, "I think we've taken enough of your
valuable time and we must be off."
"Wait a moment," said the editor. "Have you explained all that I told
you to the captain?"
"Not yet," answered Cleary, "but I'll do it now on the way to his
hotel. He is going to leave town to-day, and he may be ordered to sail
any day now. I will try to go on the same ship with him."
"Perhaps I can manage it, too," said Jonas, as he shook hands with the
two friends, "if I can finish up all these arrangements. I must be on
the ground there as soon as I can."
As Sam and Cleary left the room the editor and Jonas settled down to a
confidential conversation, and there were smiles upon their lips as
they began talking.