In civil life character builds slowly up to higher levels. In war, it leaps upward in an instant. Thaine sprang to 322 his feet and stood up to his full height in the blaze of the tropical sunshine. He did not see his captain, who had dropped to the ground like a wounded thing, stabbed to the soul with an agony of sorrow. He did not see the still form of the young lieutenant outlined under the cover of the stretcher. He did not see the trenches nor the lines of khaki-clad, sun-browned soldiery plunging forward to rid the jungle of its deadly peril. In that one moment he looked down the years with clear vision, as his father, Asher Aydelot, had learned to look before him, and he saw manhood and a new worth in human deeds. He had been a sentimental dreamer, ambitious for honors fairly earned, and eager for adventure. The first shots in the night attack on the Tondo road made him a soldier. The martyrdom of Lieutenant Alford made him a patriot. Humanity must be worth much, it seemed to him, if, in the providence of God, such blood must be spilled to redeem it to nobler civilization.
Six weeks after the death of Alford before Caloocan, Dr. Horace Carey came up from the hospital in Manila to the American line to see Thaine Aydelot. The Kansas boys had been on duty in the trenches north of Caloocan for forty days, living beside the breastworks under the rude shelter of bamboo poles, watching a sleepless enemy—a life as full of wearing monotony and hardship as it was full of constant peril.
“Well, Thaine, how goes the game?” Carey asked, as he sat beside the young soldier from the Grass River Valley. “I helped you into this world. I’m glad I haven’t had to help you out yet.”
Carey had never before seen any resemblance to Asher 323 Aydelot in his son’s face. It was purely a type of the old Thaine family of Virginia. But today, the pose of the head, the expression of the mouth, the far-seeing gaze of the dark eyes, bespoke the heritage of the house of Aydelot.
“I hope not to have any more help from you, either. You got me into the scrape; I’ll see to the rest,” Thaine replied. “Don’t I look all right? I haven’t had a bath, except in swamp mud, since the first of February. Today is the twenty-third of March. Neither have I seen a razor. Notice my silky beard. Nor a dress suit, nor a—anything else civilized. Six weeks in one hole, killing Filipinos for our amusement and dodging their old Remingtons for theirs, living on army rations and respect for the flag of my country, may not improve my appearance, but it hasn’t started me to the sick-shack yet. Any news from home?” Thaine ended with the question put so carelessly, with a face so impenetrable that Doctor Carey took notice at once.
“Homesick!” was his mental diagnosis, but he answered with equal carelessness.
“Yes, I had a letter from Leigh Shirley.”
Thaine’s eyes were too full of unspeakable things now for him to hold out.
“She says the alfalfa is doing well. She and Jim have kept up all the interest, and are beginning to reduce the principal. That’s why she wrote.”
“Brave little soldier,” Thaine muttered.