I'm whipped. Who cares what becomes of me?
Not a soul on earth except Pablo and Carolina and they, poor creatures,
are dependent upon me. Why should I sacrifice my last chance for
happiness in a vain effort to stem a yellow tide that cannot be
stemmed? Why do you taunt me with my aversion to sacrifice for my
country--I who have sacrificed two years of my life and some of my
blood and much of my happiness?"
Suddenly she put her little gauntleted hand up to her face and
commenced to weep. "Oh, Don Mike, please forgive me! I'm sorry.
I--I--have no right to demand such a sacrifice, but oh, I
thought--perhaps--you were different from all the others--that you'd be
a true--knight and die--sword in--hand--oh, dear, I'm such a--little
ninny--"
He bit his lower lip but could not quite conceal a smile.
"You mean you didn't think I was a quitter!" His voice was grim and
crisp. "Well, in the dirty battle for bread and butter there are no
decorations for gallantry in action; in that conflict I do not have to
live up to the one that Congress gave me. And why shouldn't I quit? I
come from a long line of combination fighter-quitters. We were never
afraid of hardship or physical pain, danger or death, but--we couldn't
face conditions; we balked and quit in the face of circumstance; we
retired always before the economic onslaught of the Anglo-Saxon."
"Ah, but you're Anglo-Saxon," she sobbed.
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