"A little. It is not civilised life here. Yet--yet a few strong
patriotic men--"

Lacey looked quizzically at David.

"Say," he said, "I thought that about Mexico once. I said
Manana--this Manana is the curse of Mexico. It's always
to-morrow--to-morrow--to-morrow. Let's teach 'em to do things to-day.
Let's show 'em what business means. Two million dollars went into that
experiment, but Manana won. We had good hands, but it had the joker.
After five years I left, with a bald head at twenty-nine, and a little
book of noble thoughts--Tips for the Tired, or Things you can say To-day
on what you can do to-morrow. I lost my hair worrying, but I learned
to be patient. The Dagos wanted to live in their own way, and they did.
It's one thing to be a missionary and say the little word in season;
it's another to run your soft red head against a hard stone wall. I went
to Mexico a conquistador, I left it a child of time, who had learned to
smile; and I left some millions behind me, too. I said to an old Padre
down there that I knew--we used to meet in the Cafe Manrique and drink
chocolate--I said to him, 'Padre, the Lord's Prayer is a mistake down
here.' 'Si, senor,' he said, and smiled his far-away smile at me. 'Yes,'
said I, 'for you say in the Lord's Prayer, "Give us this day our daily
bread."' 'Si, senor,' he says, 'but we do not expect it till to-morrow!'
The Padre knew from the start, but I learned at great expense, and went
out of business--closed up shop for ever, with a bald head and my Tips
for the Tired. Well, I've had more out of it all, I guess, than if I'd
trebled the millions and wiped Manana off the Mexican coat of arms."

"You think it would be like that here?" David asked abstractedly.

Lacey whistled. "There the Government was all right and the people all
wrong. Here the people are all right and the Government all wrong. Say,
it makes my eyes water sometimes to see the fellah slogging away. He's
a Jim-dandy--works all day and half the night, and if the tax-gatherer
isn't at the door, wakes up laughing. I saw one"--his light blue eyes
took on a sudden hardness--"laughing on the other side of his mouth one
morning. They were 'kourbashing' his feet; I landed on them as the soles
came away. I hit out." His face became grave, he turned the cigar round
in his mouth. "It made me feel better, but I had a close call. Lucky for
me that in Mexico I got into the habit of carrying a pop-gun. It saved
me then. But it isn