“Oh, I don’t know,” said Alan. “They’ve got a few in the army, and they seem to be doing pretty well.”
“Huh, the army!” said the captain. He subsided, and made a new start. “What’s your appointment?”
“It doesn’t amount to an appointment. Just a job as assistant to Walton, the engineer the contractors are sending out. We’re going to put up a bridge somewhere in Africa.”
“That’s it. I knew it,” said the captain. “Going away. Want any money?”
The question came like solid shot out of a four-pounder. Alan started, colored, and smiled all at the same time.
“No, thanks, sir,” he replied; “I’ve got all I need.”
The captain hitched his chair forward, and glared out on the avenue.
“The Lansings,” he began, like a boy reciting a piece, “are devils for drink, the Waynes for women. Don’t you ever let ’em worry you about drink. Nowadays the doctors call us non-alcoholic. In my time it was just plain strong heads for wine. I say, don’t worry about drink. There’s a safety-valve in every Wayne’s gullet. But women, Alan!” The captain slued around his bulging eyes. “You look out for them. As your great-grandfather used to say, ‘To women, only perishable goods—sweets, flowers, and kisses.’ And you take it from me, kisses aren’t always the cheapest. They say God made everything down to little apples and Jersey lightning, but when He made women the devil helped.” The captain’s nervousness dropped from him as he deliberately drew out his watch and fob. “Good thing he did, too,” he added as a pleasing afterthought. He leaned back in his chair. A complacent look came over his face.
Alan got up to say good-by. The captain rose, too, and clasped the hand Alan held out.
“One more thing,” he said. “Don’t forget there’s always a Wayne to back a Wayne for good or bad.” There was a suspicion of moisture in his eye as he hurried his guest off.