Move on," he ordered, "you're keeping these people waiting."

Others of the dinner-party formed a flying wedge around Aintree
and crowded him up the steps and into a seat and sat upon him.
Ten minutes later, when Standish made his rounds of the cars,
Aintree saw him approaching. He had a vague recollection that
he had been insulted, and by a policeman.

"You!" he called, and so loudly that all in the car turned, "I'm
going to report you, going to report you for insolence. What's
your name?"

Looking neither at Aintree nor at the faces turned toward him,
Standish replied as though Aintree had asked him what time it was.

"Standish," he said, "corporal, shield number 226, on train
guard." He continued down the aisle.

"I'll remember you," Aintree shouted.

But in the hot, glaring dawn of the morning after, Aintree forgot.
It was Standish who remembered.

The men of the Zone police are hand-picked. They have been
soldiers, marines, cowboys, sheriffs, "Black Hussars" of the
Pennsylvania State constabulary, rough riders with Roosevelt,
mounted police in Canada, irregular horse in South Africa; they
form one of the best-organized, best-disciplined, most efficient,
most picturesque semi-military bodies in the world. Standish
joined them from the Philippine constabulary in which he had