“I’m not so sure of that,” argued Barclay. “Oil is the fuel for future battleships; we are exporting thousands of gallons of oil; it’s time we conserved our resources.”
“But not by government ownership,” retorted Tilghman. “Let the government get oil concessions in Mexico and keep them. What’s our Monroe Doctrine for but to make us a protectorate over most of the western hemisphere? We can drive out the other Johnnies when they try and tap our foreign resources.”
“With an adequate navy, yes,” laughed Barclay. “But you have a curious conception of the meaning of the Monroe Doctrine.”
“Not at all!” Tilghman warmed to the subject. “The Monroe Doctrine is just another definition of ‘dog in the manger’—we won’t let other nations have what we won’t take. It’s a shameful waste of opportunity for territorial advancement.”
“At the expense of smaller nations?” dryly.
“Ah, well, the battle goes to the strong.” Tilghman turned languidly and beckoned to the porter. “Is this Atlanta we are approaching?” he asked the negro.
“Yessir, an’ ’pears like we’ll be hyar mos’ two hours, ’cause there’s a washout ahead. De conductor says as how de passengers can go off an’ see de city, but dey mus’ be back hyar widdin an hour an’ a half.”
Barclay rose and stretched himself. “Think I’ll go and take a run around the block,” he announced, smothering a yawn. “Come along?”
But Tilghman shook his head, and watched Barclay’s tall, erect figure pass down the aisle with a touch of envy. The other men in the smoker, pausing to exchange a word with him, filed out of the car, and Tilghman, left to his own resources, placed his tickets in the band of his hat, pulled the brim over his face; lowered the window shade, braced his legs on a convenient ledge, poured out a liberal portion of raw spirits in the silver cup of Barclay’s flask, and holding the cup in his hand, settled back in his chair and, closing his eyes, sipped the brandy at intervals.
Julian Barclay, whistling cheerily, was making his way out of the station at Atlanta when the crowd ahead of him parted, and he caught a glimpse of a familiar face. Wheeling about with an abruptness that brought him into violent collision with the Japanese whose behavior in the train had so excited his interest, Barclay, never glancing at him, raced back to the train.