with other men, he was generous in helping at times when he
was able to do so.

Davis was a conspicuous figure in Vera Cruz, as he inevitably had been
in all such situations. Wherever he went, he was pointed out. His
distinction of appearance, together with a distinction in dress, which,
whether from habit or policy, was a valuable asset in his work, made
him a marked man. 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. After the first few days it was
difficult to extract real thrills from the Vera Cruz situation, but we
used to ride out to El Tejar with the cavalry patrol and imagine that
we might be fired on at some point in the long ride through unoccupied
territory; or else go out to the "front," at Legarto, where a little
American force occupied a sun-baked row of freight-cars, surrounded by
malarial swamps. From the top of the railroad water-tank, we could
look across to the Mexican outposts a mile or so away. It was not very
exciting, and what thrills we got lay chiefly in our imagination.

Before my acquaintanceship with