James Hopper

“ Some one on the veranda mentioned Morton. The short, idle sentence split the peace of the moment like an electric spark. And the silence that immediately engulfed it was not as the silence that had been before; it was a silence full of unrest, of vague spiritual heavings and stirrings, for the case of the man was one which filled us with inward clamor and questioning, and yet pinned us beneath the weight of some indefinable oppression.
But Courtland began to speak, and we leaned forward, intent, knowing that he must understand. ”

“ It isn’t the fall of him that’s difficult; that’s easy, too easy—we see so much of it. But the redemption—unless we go back to the old explanation, puerile to us complicated moderns, perhaps from its very obviousness—the old theory of purification through suffering. ”

“ He was one of life’s fortunates, too. Belonged to a good family in the States—New Englanders, reputable and cold and narrow, stiff with rectitude as their own rock-ribbed coasts. Well educated, had gone to college, had played football, et cetera. Well, he came over here with the Volunteers. Easy to read after that. First, fervent, romantic patriotism, then mad exasperation, then mere cold, cynical brutality. Two years of loosening of fiber in the promiscuity of camp, of reversion to type in butchery of field. ”

“ The naked muchachos were galloping their ponies to the beach for their morning bath; they circled wide as they came upon him. At a plaza he tried to hail a carromata, but the cochero whipped up his horse in a frenzy of distrust. It was cholera time, and cold egoism ruled the city. He told me of it, that one time. “I was alone, Courtland, alone, alone. None would hear me, none would hear me. They fled, they fled. I was alone, alone with my crime in my arms, with my story in my arms, the story of my life, of my degradation ”

“ And yet what did she read, what did she read in these defiled pages?
(Courtland’s voice droned off on the question. A heavy torpor descended from the low sky. We leaned forward, intent for the word, the solution.)
You remember him—a tall, dark, aquiline man, with something Indian in his features, and efficiency written in every muscle-play of his magnificent body. A strong man, you would remark at first sight, a strong man, physically and morally. Bah! the strength of man—a phrase, words, bubble! ”

“ He went down-stairs, jumped into a carromata that was just rattling out of the court, and drove to the Intendencia.
The Chief let him into his inner office immediately. Looking down upon his superior seated at his desk, Morton told the night’s story in dry, monotonous manner, as a story told already a hundred times, and he noticed as he talk that the Chief knew already all about it, but was too polite to interrupt. When he had done the Chief spoke.
“Yes,” he said; ‘‘it’s too bad, too bad. But you must brace up, take it like a man. ”