“And this is your idea of a vacation?”
“No, it isn't a vacation; it's a summer-course in practical sociology.”
“Oh, I see!” said the marshal; and he smiled in spite of himself.
“All last year we let the professors of political economy hand out their theories to us. But somehow the theories didn't seem to correspond with the facts. I said to myself, 'I've got to check them up.' You know the phrases, perhaps—individualism, laissez faire, freedom of contract, the right of every man to work for whom he pleases. And here you see how the theories work out—a camp-marshal with a cruel smile on his face and a gun on his hip, breaking the laws faster than a governor can sign them.”
The camp-marshal decided suddenly that he had had enough of this “tea-party.” He rose to his feet to cut matters short. “If you don't mind, young man,” said he, “we'll get down to business!”
SECTION 22.
He took a turn about the room, then he came and stopped in front of Hal. He stood with his hands thrust into his pockets, with a certain jaunty grace that was out of keeping with his occupation. He was a handsome devil, Hal thought—in spite of his dangerous mouth, and the marks of dissipation on him.
“Young man,” he began, with another effort at geniality. “I don't know who you are, but you're wide awake; you've got your nerve with you, and I admire you. So I'm willing to call the thing off, and let you go back and finish that course at college.”
Hal had been studying the other's careful smile. “Cotton,” he said, at last, “let me get the proposition clear. I don't have to say I took that money?”
“No, we'll let you off from that.”