And of this it seemed to RoBards better to leave Mrs. Lasher in ignorance than to certify the ghastly truth. He had trouble enough in store for him within his own precincts.
War, for one thing, shook the nation. President Polk called for men and money to confirm the annexation of the Texas Republic and to suppress the Mexican Republic.
With a wife and children to support and the heritage of bills from his father-in-law to pay, RoBards felt that patriotism was a luxury beyond his means. But Harry Chalender went out with the first troops, and by various illegitimate devices managed to worm himself into the very forefront of danger.
Other sons of important families bribed their way to the zone of death and won glory or death or both at Cerro Gordo, Chapultepec and Churubusco. New York had a good laugh over the capture of General Santa Ana’s wooden leg and the return of the troops was a glorious holiday.
Harry Chalender had been the second man to enter the gates of Mexico City and he marched home with “Captain” in front of his name and his arm in a graceful sling.
When he met Patty he said: “Thank the Lord the Greasers left me one wing to throw round you.”
He hugged her hard and kissed her, and then wrung the hand of RoBards, who could hardly attack a wounded hero, or deny him some luxury after a hard campaign. RoBards saw with dread that his wife had grown fifteen years younger under the magic of her old lover’s salute; her cheek was stained with a blush of girlish confusion.
That night as she dressed for a ball in honor of the soldiers, Patty begged her husband once more to lend a hand at pulling her corset laces. When he refused sulkily, she laughed and kissed him with that long-lost pride in his long-dormant jealousy. But her amusement cost him dear, and his youth was not restored by hers.
For months his heart seemed to be skewered and toasted like the meat on the turning spit in the restaurant windows.
And then the word California assumed a vast importance, like a trumpet call on a stilly afternoon. It advertised a neglected strip of territory of which Uncle Sam had just relieved the prostrate Mexico. People said that it was built upon a solid ledge of gold. Much as RoBards would have liked to be rich, he could not shake off his chains.