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Only in secret Standish railed against Aintree. When his brother policemen gossiped and jested about him, out of loyalty to the army he remained silent. But in his heart he could not forgive. The man he had so generously envied, the man after whose career he had wished to model his own, had voluntarily stepped from his pedestal and made a swine of himself. And not only could he not forgive, but as day after day Aintree furnished fresh food for his indignation he felt a fierce desire to punish.

Meanwhile, of the conduct of Aintree, men older and wiser, if less intolerant than Standish, were beginning to take notice. It was after a dinner on Ancon Hill, and the women had left the men to themselves. They were the men who were placing the Panama Canal on the map. They were officers of the army who for five years had not worn a uniform. But for five years they had been at war with an enemy that never slept. Daily they had engaged in battle with mountains, rivers, swamps, two oceans, and disease. Where Aintree commanded five hundred soldiers, they commanded a body of men better drilled, better disciplined, and in number half as many as those who formed the entire army of the United States. The mind of each was occupied with a world problem. They thought and talked in millions –of millions of cubic yards of dirt, of millions of barrels of cement, of millions of tons of steel, of hundreds of millions of dollars, of which latter each received enough to keep himself and his family just beyond the reach of necessity. To these men with the world waiting upon the outcome of their endeavor, with responsibilities that never relaxed, Aintree’s behavior was an incident, an annoyance of less importance than an overturned dirt train that for five minutes dared to block the completion of their work. But they were human and loyal to the army, and in such an infrequent moment as this, over the coffee and cigars, they could afford to remember the junior officer, to feel sorry for him, for the sake of the army, to save him from himself.

“He takes his orders direct from the War Department,” said the chief. “I’ve no authority over him. If he’d been one of my workmen I’d have shipped him north three months ago.”

“That’s it,” said the surgeon, “he’s not a workman. He has nothing to do, and idleness is the curse of the army. And in this climate–“

“Nothing to do!” snorted the civil administrator. “Keeping his men in hand is what he has to do! They’re running amuck all over Panama, getting into fights with the Spiggoty police, bringing the uniform into contempt. As for the climate, it’s the same climate for all of us. Look at Butler’s marines and Barber’s Zone police. The climate hasn’t hurt them. They’re as smart men as ever wore khaki. It’s not the climate or lack of work that ails the Thirty- third, it’s their commanding officer. ‘So the colonel, so the regiment.’ That’s as old as the hills. Until Aintree takes a brace, his men won’t. Some one ought to talk to him. It’s a shame to see a fine fellow like that going to the dogs because no one has the courage to tell him the truth.”

The chief smiled mockingly.

“Then why don’t you?” he asked.

“I’m a civilian,” protested the administrator. “If I told him he was going to the dogs he’d tell me to go to the devil. No, one of you army men must do it. He’ll listen to you.”

Young Captain Haldane of the cavalry was at the table; he was visiting Panama on leave as a tourist. The chief turned to him.