y, industry--they need them all. Most of us will
probably have to stop to remember that the marines who landed in Haiti
and Santo Domingo are still there. And running things in their usual
efficient fashion. There was the usual fighting to get a toe-hold, the
usual fighting to retain place, the usual establishing of outposts, with
the usual killed and wounded already probably forgotten by most of us.
Perhaps they are too far away to make absorbing newspaper items; perhaps
it is the Big War overshadowing all else.

In Haiti and Santo Domingo it was the old story of political factions,
each faction having its own little gang of fighting men till our fellows
came in and ran most of them into the hills. When the marines took
charge they found that pretty much everything on the island had gone to
wrack. As, for instance, under the old French regime there had been some
splendid roads in Haiti, but now they were hardly more than sewers in
the towns and a drainage for the hill slopes of the country.

The marines repaired the roads; not always using the picks and shovels
themselves, but seeing to it that somebody did, paying a living wage for
such work to the natives. Sometimes bandits--who are quite often gentle
creatures when out of training--captured bandits were allowed to quit
jail to do useful work in this line. The marines installed sanitary
methods, saw that courts of justice were resumed, marine officers
themselves serving as justices until they found natives who could do
that service. Likewise they collected and disbursed taxes.

Above all, they did away with the old reign of terror, when no man's
life was safe if he happened to be on the wrong side. When the bandits
were running around unchecked, it was not safe for a whole family to go
to market together. Generally the women went to sell their little
produce, while the men stayed behind to guard the little property at
home. Now--the natives speak of the wonder of it--the roads on
market-days are crowded with both men and women.

At first they had distrust of the marine; not altogether because he was
a foreigner (the tropical people probably are less distrustful of us
than we of them)--he was an armed soldier. But they learned to know him,
and now the native salutes and smiles without effort at the marine in
passing. When one particular marine officer left there to come home
recently, crowds of native men, women, and children came down, some to
weep, but all to wis