Sunday came and I chose to continue, though virtually all the Zone
was on holiday and even "the boss," after what I found later to be
his invariable custom, had broken away from his card-littered
dwelling-place on Saturday evening and hurried away to Panama,
drawn thither and held till Monday morning--by some irresistible
attraction. Sunday turns holiday completely on the Zone, even to
hours of trains and hotels. The frequent passengers were packed
from southern white end to northern black end with all nations in
gladsome garb, bound Panamaward to see the lottery drawing and buy
a ticket for the following Sunday, across the Isthmus to breezy
Colon, or to one of a hundred varying spots and pastimes. Others
in khaki breeches fresh from the government laundry in Cristobal
and the ubiquitous leather leggings of the "Zoner" were off to
ride out the day in the jungles; still others set resolutely forth
afoot into tropical paths; a dozen or so, gleaned one by one from
all the towns along the line were even on their way to church. Yet
with all this scattering there still remained a respectable
percentage lounging on the screened verandas in pajamas and
kimonas, "Old Timers" of four or five or even six years' standing
who were convinced they had seen and heard, and smelt and tasted
all that the Zone or tropical lands have to offer.
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