Brainard nodded. He began to comprehend the results of Hollinger’s reading on the Overland.
“Now,” continued Hollinger, clearing his throat, “I have nothing to say against Puritanism. It’s a very good thing for some people. It did some mighty fine work in the world.”
“Discovered Plymouth Rock, for instance.”
“Yes, and created the nicest lot of little hypocritical tight-wads there in New England the world has ever seen. We needed those tight-wads out west—we needed their bank accounts, I mean to say. But we don’t need ’em any longer, only they can’t understand it and keep shoving their morals in our faces. That’s the trouble with America all over at the present date. Puritanism breaks out here, there, and everywhere, like the measles. And it always means trying to make the other feller as good as you think he oughter be—and a damn sight better than you are yourself!”
He paused to send for another drink. Brainard wondered what the august author of the great epic would have thought of this twentieth century criticism of his theory.
“Now Mexico is free from all that sort of cant, and that is why I said Mexico was destined to be a great country. In Mexico they let the individual alone. You see, the Church is supposed to look after the morals of the community. That is a great relief—it simplifies life and makes it much more honest. The Church does the best it can, and the State helps it out when necessary. But the Church don’t expect too much, the Catholic Church I mean, of human beings, and so it isn’t disappointed. It all works beautifully! You’ll never find in Mexico such a fool performance as that going on in San Francisco to-day. They’re no puritans in California either. They don’t want reform—they don’t want to shut up the cafés and French restaurants and prevent the city council from getting its little rakeoff—not a bit of it! It’s only this puritan bug has got hold of some ‘better than thous’ among us, and they are raising hell.”
He paused to finish his drink and wipe his brow.
“It always heats me to think,” he explained. “But I was saying that for this reason Mexico has a great part to play in the future. For one thing, it furnishes us Americans a possible place to live in when our own country has one of these righteous attacks and is cleaning house. Lovely country, lovely climate, lovely people—if you know how to handle ’em right. No, sir, I hope they’ll never civilize Mexico in my time any more than it is civilized at present. The natural man needs a country, and Mexico is his country. . . . Come on—let’s have a look at the town. The band will be playing in the square a little later, and you will see some of the prettiest girls you ever saw in your life.”
The fight-trust man lighted another cigar, put on his panama hat, and tucked an arm under Brainard’s elbow, and thus they sallied forth to explore Jalapa. Brainard might not agree with his friend’s anti-puritanism, but he heartily agreed with his praise of Mexico. At this gentle hour of the late afternoon soft rosy clouds hovered about the white head of old Orizaba. The gardens, glimpses of which might be caught through iron-barred gates, were fragrant with flowering trees, in which the birds sang madly. After a short ramble about the outskirts of the town, they returned to the plaza, which was now fairly filled with men and women and children, gathered to hear the military band and to enjoy the fragrant coolness of the dying day. Many of the brown peon girls were pretty, and the Spanish women, pallid and black-haired, with white mantillas, quite fascinated the young American. A fountain shot a lively jet of water into the sunlight. The great white lilies drooped their golden chalices under shining leaves. The band of Indians at the other end of the square played operatic music that came through the soft air languorously in harmony with the atmosphere.
“Where in America, the land of the puritan, can you get so much for your money?” Hollinger demanded. “It is only in the lands of license that the people delight in innocent things.”