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Updated: May 22, 2025
Captain Devore was a very good old religious kind of an officer, very strange and different from any other officer. The most that he believed in was to keep clean. He was very fond of seeing brooms, mops, picks and shovels in use. He liked to see work going on. He seemed to be too economical to eat as much as he needed of government rations.
Que dois-je faire encore? Quel transport me saisit? Quel chagrin me devore?" Some hours after the quarrel about the straws, when her husband had entirely forgotten it, and was sitting very quietly in his own apartment writing a letter, Griselda entered the room with a countenance prepared for great exploits. "Mr.
Jessie, our operator, told us afterward that he called up a haberdasher, and in a voice that boomed like a bell ordered fourteen of those plaited-bosom shirts of his, the same to be made up and delivered as soon as possible. Then he stalked out. And in a minute or two more Devore came down looking happy and unhappy and embarrassed and exalted, all of them at once.
By way of a suitable return for this, Devore spent many a spare moment thinking up grotesque yet wickedly appropriate nicknames for the major. He called him Old First and Second Manassas and Old Hardee's Tactics and Old Valley of Virginia. He called him an old bluffer too. He was wrong there, though, certainly.
In our home town each of us had known somebody very much like him there used to be at least one Major Stone in every community in the South, although most of them are dead now, I guess so we all could understand him. When I say all I mean all but Devore. The major's mere presence would poison Devore's whole day for him.
Following the tension there was a snapback; a feeling of languor and disappointment possessed us. Devore slammed down the lid of his desk and departed, cursing the luck as he went.
He saluted and started to leave the office. But he didn't make it. "And, DeVore!" The Fiscal chief halted abruptly, and turned. "Sir?" "I'm getting tired of the negative thinking you people seem to have fallen into lately. I'm sick of going into every routine detail with you. When you got that letter, you should have immediately worked out a method of retaining the royalties.
He'd merely consulted his Fiscal expert on a technical matter, and if DeVore had seen fit to use an illegal method of solving a problem, it was DeVore's responsibility alone. To be sure, Morely had been a little emphatic in his order, but that was simply because he was well aware of his Fiscal chief's disinclination to make exhaustive technical research.
It struck me as one of the funniest things and one of the most pathetic I had ever seen. I'll say this for Devore he tried out the major on nearly every kind of job; and surely it wasn't Devore's fault that the major failed on every single one of them. His first attempt was as typical a failure as any of them.
He could easily get the data he needed by simply contacting one of the clerks, he knew, but he felt an urgent need for personal activity. That conversation with DeVore, way out in Region Nine, had upset him more than he liked to admit, even to himself. It wouldn't be so bad if it were an isolated incident.
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