He dressed and looked the "war correspondent,"
such a one as he would describe in one of his stories. He
fulfilled the popular ideal of what a member of that
fascinating profession should look like. His code of life and
habits was as fixed as that of the Briton who takes his habits
and customs and games and tea wherever he goes, no matter how
benighted or remote the spot may be.
He was just as loyal to his code as is the Briton. He carried
his bath-tub, his immaculate linen, his evening clothes, his
war equipment--in which he had the pride of a
connoisseur--wherever he went, and, what is more, he had the
courage to use the evening clothes at times when their use was
conspicuous. He was the only man who wore a dinner coat in
Vera Cruz, and each night, at his particular table in the
crowded "Portales," at the Hotel Diligencia, he was to be
seen, as fresh and clean as though he were in a New York or
London restaurant.
Each day he was up early to take the train out to the "gap,"
across which came arrivals from Mexico City. Sometimes a good
"story" would come down, as when the long-heralded and long-
expected arrival of Consul Silliman gave a first-page
"feature" to all the American papers.
In the afternoon he would play water polo over at the navy
aviation camp, and always at a certain time of the day his
"striker" would bring him his horse and for an hour or more he
would ride out along the beach roads within the American
lines.
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