And one night, after he had been telling the mess of a Filipino
officer who alone had held back his men and himself, and who at last
died in his arms cursing him, she went to sleep declaring to herself
that Lieutenant Ranson was becoming too like the man she had pictured
for her husband than was good for her peace of mind. He had told the
story as his tribute to a brave man fighting for his independence and
with such regret that such a one should have died so miserably, that,
to the embarrassment of the mess, the tears rolled down his cheeks.
But he wiped them away with his napkin as unconcernedly as though
they were caused by the pepper-box, and said simply, "He had sporting
blood, he had. I've never felt so bad about anything as I did about
that chap. Whenever I think of him standing up there with his back to
the cathedral all shot to pieces, but giving us what for until he
died, it makes me cry. So," he added, blowing his nose vigorously, "I
won't think of it any more."
Tears are properly a woman's weapon, and when a man makes use of
them, even in spite of himself, he is taking an advantage over the
other sex which is unfair and outrageous.
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