The better half of me is Irish, sharing the same heritage with every British Tommy, every British bluejacket, every British irregular on the far flung frontiers. Even the English feel it, whose hearts are like cold fish, the glamour of the service, the magic, the witchcraft, the religion of this justice-under-arms guarding a fourth part of all mankind from war, keeping the peace of the sea! Spain was, England is, and Canada will be, a power snatching fire from Heaven to yield the peace of el Eterno Padre. Santissima Maria—I belonged to that!
Oh, but it was more, a great deal more. In the frost of the window beside me there was a patch of clear glass, and I could see a cloud race past the moon, above the driving surf of the snow-sea, while the blizzard battered and thundered, half lifting our train from the rails. I wanted to be back where I had been, riding storms. I belonged there, I belonged to that.
If we who serve with the colors under Old Glory or the Union Jack were serving for pay the public enemy could buy us for more pay. Could you bargain with us in terms of cash for the austerities of actual service, disease, wounds, death?
"Credo in unum Deum," roared the storm. "Omnipotentem," roared the storm. "Creatirem Coeli, et terrae," roared the storm. I and the storm were servants of one God. I knew then that never while I lived could I belong to a civilization which measures life in dollars.
I was at a castle in Spain tipping the groom of the chambers with one raw oyster in his extended palm, when Rich Mixed woke me up with his cold nose in my hand. The dawn was breaking, the train had pulled up at Moose jaw, and there was a new passenger approaching, all furs, frost and fuss. The men in the car were stretched or coiled on the seats, like corpses in the wan gray light of morning. The only empty place was the one which belonged to my dog, so he was saying in dog talk.
"Ur-r! Gur-r-r!" which means: "Isn't he poisonous. Don't let him take my seat. Yur-r-r!"
So I took Rich Mixed on my lap and said, "Sit on your tail, my septic friend."
Yet this person must needs argue about seats farther on, so the brakeman called him a fool and walked off. It seemed to me, though, that this unwholesome stranger shied, not at the dog but at me. So I told him I was only a policeman, and the dog was most particular as to what he ate. The man sat down.
As yet I had no suspicions at all, but the person must needs explain a lot of stuff about being a photographer and making good money with pictures of mountain sceneries. That set me wondering, for if he came from the Rockies, why should he board the train five hundred miles out on the plains? And if he really was a photographer, he should have the camera tripod, slide box and that well-known professional manner.
"Cur-r!" said Rich Mixed.