Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1914-11-08
Drawings by H. Rowland
Being the third of a series of stories. based on
truth, of those who refused surrender

Being a
truth. of those who refused to surrender.
DECLAMATORY, insistent, cynical,
the voice of the youngest man came
through the darkness of the tropical
night to the little group of wanderers seated
on the veranda, Patriotism? Flag worship!
Old fogy idea! What is a flag, after all? A
mere piece of bunting for which wise men
hire fools to fight"
The ite-haired, SCARED, lame old engl-
neer, the Major, suddenly leaned forward,
gurgled queerly as if about to speak with
disturbing emphasis, got slowly to his feet,
restrained himself, and then with an atti-
tude of repression bent forward and looked
at those around him expectantly. The half
caste club steward, swarthy, straight-haired,
who had been doing, fastened forward;
then, receiving no orders, slipped quietly
back into the shadows. Somewhere off in
the jungle behind this outpost, founded by
Adventures, and maintained by adventures
who came and went in a never-ending
stream, bell bird struck his mellow note,
sounding like the ghostly, admonitory re-
minder of an ancient mission bell. Great
6rehies swept and wove through the pal
pitant darkness, and still no one defended
flag. 1t was as if they, adventures, exiles
from civilization, were without allegiance.
The Major moved restlessly, then spoke
as if with effort, his gentle voice sounding
husky and reluctant. "At the risk of being
called an old fogy by our companion, Gen
tlemen, I should like to tell about-well,
about man once knew who lost respect
for the flag of his country"
He blurted the last words, fighting habit
ual reticence. Those who knew him only
as the distinguished engineer brought out by
the Brazilian government to inspect pro-
posed undertaking, turned toward him with
interest. A grim old rubber explorer smiled
to himself with satisfaction, and the young
est man twisted in his seat as if intolerant
of argument; but the Major did not glance
in his direction.
ats the story of Wild Bob Drake. And
wild he was, and reckless, impulsive and
unrestrained, all of which is bad combina-
ton. From first to last these characteristics
dominated him, drove him, finished him.
The impatient young man rose with the
evident intention of leaving; but the Major
looked up and said in the same quiet tone:
@Don't go just yet, Mr.. Rodney. I'd
rather like you to hear this story. It's
well, in way, I'm telling it to you"
"You sit down, young mani" growled the
rubber explorer, deity jerking Rodney's
coat tails and thrusting chair forward.
AS the younger man dropped to his seat a
veteran orchid hunter hitched his chair closer
and laid a hand on Rodney's knee with
no very gentle pressure.
@Have manners!' he rumbled. "Pay re-
spect to your betters!'
OVERAWED, the young man attempted
a jest; but no one laughed. The
Major, as if intent on performing duty, ig
interruption and doggedly resumed.
about Wild Bob Drake-I got to know hi
Point. Strange place you might think for a
had contempt for our flag. Don't make a mis-
ever, because above all else one learns at tt
veneration and reverence for the banner. N
badly expressed; for every American has tt
ence somewhere in his soul, and West Point