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CABBAGES AND KINGS
A*
\
CABBAGES
AND KINGS

NEW YORK
McCLURE, PHILLIPS & CO.
MCMV
Copyright, 1904, by
McCLURE, PHILLIPS & CO.
Published, November, 1904
CONTENTS
PAGE
The Proem: By the Carpenter . . 3
I. "FoX-IN-THE-MoRNING" .... 11
^ II. The Lotus and the Bottle . . 27
m. Smith 48
IV. Caught 69
V. Cuped's Exile Number Two . . 91
VI. The Phonograph and the Graft 102
VII. Money Maze 126
VIII. The Admiral 144
IX. The Flag Paramount 159 0
X. The Shamrock and the Palm . . 177
XI. The Remnants of the Code . . 208
XII. Shoes 225
Xm. Ships 242
XIV. Masters of Arts 257
XV. Dicky 285
XVI. Rouge et Noir 307
XVII. Two Recalls 324
XVIII. The Vitagraphoscope 339
CABBAGES AND KINGS
The time has come" the Walrus said,
*' To talk of many things;
Of shoes and ships and sealing-wax,
And cabbages and kings."
THE WALRUS AND THE CARPENTER
I
J
THE PROEM:
By the Carpenter
ThEY will tell you in Anchuria, that President
Miraflores, of that volatile republic, died by his own
hand in the coast town of Coralio; that he had
reached thus far in flight from the inconveniences of
an imminent revolution; and that one hundred thou-
sand dollars, government funds, which he carried
with him in an American leather valise as a souvenir
of his tempestuous administration, was never after-
ward recovered.
For a real, a boy will show you his grave. It is
back of the town near a little bridge that spans a
mangrove swamp. A plain slab of wood stands at
its head. Some one has burned upon the headstone
with a hot iron this inscription:
4 Cabbages and Kings
RAMON ANGEL DE LAS CRUZES
Y MIRAFLORES
PRESIDENTE DE LA REPUBLICA
DE ANCHURIA
QUE SEA SU JUEZ DIOS
It is characteristic of this buoyant people that they
pursue no man beyond the grave. "Let God be his
judge!"— Even with the hundred thousand unfound,
though greatly coveted, the hue and cry went no fur-
ther than that.
To the stranger or the guest the people of Coralio
will relate the story of the tragic end of their former
president; how he strove to escape from the country
with the public funds and also with Dona Isabel
Guilbert, the young American opera singer; and how,
being apprehended by members of the opposing polit-
ical party in Coralio, he shot himself through the
head rather than give up the funds, and, in conse-
quence, the Senorita Guilbert. They will relate
further that Dona Isabel, her adventurous bark of
fortune shoaled by the simultaneous loss of her dis-
tinguished admirer and the souvenir hundred thou-
sand, dropped anchor on this stagnant coast, await-
ing a rising tide.
The Proem 5
They say, in Coralio, that she found a prompt and
prosperous tide in the form of Frank Goodwin, an
American resident of the town, an investor who had
grown wealthy by dealing in the products of the coun-
try — a banana king, a rubber prince, a sarsaparilla,
indigo, and mahogany baron. The Senorita Guilbert, you will be told, married Sefior Goodwin one
month after the president's death, thus, in the very
moment when Fortune had ceased to smile, wresting
from her a gift greater than the prize withdrawn.
Of the American, Don Frank Goodwin, and of his
wife the natives have nothing but good to say. Don
Frank has lived among them for years, and has com-
pelled their respect. His lady is easily queen of what
social life the sober coast affords. The wife of the
governor of the district, herself, who was of the proud
Castilian family of Monteleon y Dolorosa de los
Santos y Mendez, feels honoured to unfold her nap-
kin with olive-hued, ringed hands at the table of
Senora Goodwin. Were you to refer (with your
northern prejudices) to the vivacious past of Mrs.
Goodwin when her audacious and gleeful abandon
in light opera captured the mature president's fancy, 6 Cabbages and Kings
or to her share in that statesman's downfall and mal-
feasance, the Latin shrug of the shoulder would be
your only answer and rebuttal. What prejudices
there were in Coralio concerning Senora Goodwin
seemed now to be in her favour, whatever they had
been in the past.
It would seem that the story is ended, instead of
begun; that the close of a tragedy and the climax of
a romance have covered the ground of interest; but,
to the more curious reader it shall be some slight in-
struction to trace the close threads that underlie the
ingenuous web of circumstances.
The headpiece bearing the name of President
Miraflores is daily scrubbed with soap-bark and
sand. An old half-breed Indian tends the grave with
fidelity and the dawdling minuteness of inherited
sloth. He chops down the weeds and ever-springing
grass with his machete, he plucks ants and scorpions
and beetles from it with his horny fingers, and
sprinkles its turf with water from the plaza fountain.
There is no grave anywhere so well kept and ordered.
Only by following out the underlying threads will
it be made clear why the old Indian, Galvez, is The Proem 7
secretly paid to keep green the grave of President
Miraflores by one who never saw that unfortunate
statesman in life or in death, and why that one was
wont to walk in the twilight, casting from a distance
looks of gentle sadness upon that unhonoured mound.
Elsewhere than at Coralio one learns of the im-
petuous career of Isabel Guilbert. New Orleans
gave her birth and the mingled French and Spanish
creole nature that tinctured her life with such tur-
bulence and warmth. She had little education, but
a knowledge of men and motives that seemed to have
come by instinct. Far beyond the common woman
was she endowed with intrepid rashness, with a love
for the pursuit of adventure to the brink of danger,
and with desire for the pleasures of life. Her spirit
was one to chafe under any curb; she was Eve after
the fall, but before the bitterness of it was felt. She
wore life as a rose in her bosom.
Of the legion of men who had been at her feet
it was said that but one was so fortunate as to engage
her fancy. To President Miraflores, the brilliant
but unstable ruler of Anchuria, she yielded the key
to her resolute heart. How, then, do we find her (as 8 Cabbage \ings
the Coralians would have told you) the wife of Frank
Goodwin, and happily living a life of dull and dreamy
inaction?
The underlying threads reach far, stretching across
the sea. Following them out it will be made plain
why "Shorty" O'Day, of the Columbia Detective
Agency, resigned his position. And, for a lighter
pastime, it shall be a duty and a pleasing sport to
wander with Momus beneath the tropic stars where
Melpomene once stalked austere. Now to cause
laughter to echo from those lavish jungles and
frowning crags where formerly rang the cries of
pirates' victims; to lay aside pike and cutlass and
attack with quip and jollity; to draw one saving titter
of mirth from the rusty casque of Romance — this
were pleasant to do in the shade of the lemon-trees
on that coast that is curved like lips set for smiling.
For there are yet tales of the Spanish Main. That
segment of continent washed by the tempestuous Ca-
ribbean, and presenting to the sea a formidable border
of tropical jungle topped by the overweening Cordil-
leras, is still begirt by mystery and romance. In past
times buccaneers and revolutionists roused the echoes The Proem 9
of its cliffs, and the condor wheeled perpetually above
where, in the green groves, they made food for him
with their matchlocks and toledos. Taken and re-
taken by sea rovers, by adverse powers and by sudden
uprising of rebellious factions, the historic 300 miles
of adventurous coast has scarcely known for hun-
dreds of years whom rightly to call its master. Pizarro, Balboa, Sir Francis Drake, and Bolivar did
what they could to make it a part of Christendom.
Sir John Morgan, Lafitte and other eminent swash-
-bucklers bombarded and pounded it in the name of
Abaddon.
The game still goes on. The guns of the rovers
are silenced; but the tintype man, the enlarged photo-
graph brigand, the kodaking tourist and the scouts of
the gentle brigade of fakirs have found it out, and
carry on the work. The hucksters of Germany,
France, and Sicily now bag its small change across
their counters. Gentlemen adventurers throng the
waiting-rooms of its rulers with proposals for railways
and concessions. The little opera-bouffe nations play
at government and intrigue until some day a big, silent
gunboat glides into the offing and warns them not to 10 Cabbages and Kings
break their toys. And with these changes comes
also the small adventurer, with empty pockets to fill,
light of heart, busy-brained — the modern fairy
prince, bearing an alarm clock with which, more
surely than by the sentimental kiss, to awaken the
beautiful tropics from their centuries' sleep. Gene-
rally he wears a shamrock, which he matches pride-
fully against the extravagant palms; and it is he
who has driven Melpomene to the wings, and set
Comedy to dancing before the footlights of the South-
ern Cross.
So, there is a little tale to tell of many things. Per-
haps to the promiscuous ear of the Walrus it shall
come with most avail; for in it there are indeed
shoes and ships and sealing-wax and cabbage-palms
and presidents instead of kings.
Add to these a little love and counterplotting, and
scatter everywhere throughout the maze a trail of
tropical dollars — dollars warmed no more by the
torrid sun than by the hot palms of the scouts of For-
tune— and, after all, here seems to be Life, itself,
with talk enough to weary the most garrulous of
Walruses,
CHAPTER ONE
"Fox-in-the-Morning"
CoRALIO reclined, in the mid-day heat, like some
vacuous beauty lounging in a guarded harem. The
town lay at the sea's edge on a strip of alluvial coast.
It was set like a little pearl in an emerald band. Be-
hind it, and seeming almost to topple, imminent,
above it, rose the sea-following range of the Cordil-
leras. In front the sea was spread, a smiling jailer,
but even more incorruptible than the frowning moun-
tains. The waves swished along the smooth beach;
the parrots screamed in the orange and ceiba-trees;
the palms waved their limber fronds foolishly like an awkward chorus at the prima donna's cue to enter.
Suddenly the town was full of excitement. A
native boy dashed down a grass-grown street, shriek-
12 Cabbages and Kings
mg: "Busca el Se%or Goodwin. Ha venido un
teUgrajo por el!"
The word passed quickly. Telegrams do not often
come to anyone in Coralio. The cry for Senor Good-
win was taken up by a dozen officious voices. The
main street running parallel to the beach became pop-
ulated with those who desired to expedite the delivery
of the despatch. Knots of women with complexions
varying from palest olive to deepest brown gath-
ered at street corners and plaintively carolled: "Un
telSgrajo por Senor Goodwin!" The comandante,
Don Senor el Coronel Encarnacion Rios, who was
loyal to the Ins and suspected Goodwin's devotion
to the Outs, hissed: "Aha!" and wrote in his secret
memorandum book the accusive fact that Senor
Goodwin had on that momentous date received a
telegram.
In the midst of the hullabaloo a man stepped to
the door of a small wooden building and looked out.
Above the door was a sign that read "Keogh and
Clancy"— a nomenclature that seemed not to be in-
digenous to that tropical soil. The man in the door
was Billy Keogh, scout of fortune and progress and Fox-in-the-Morning 13
latter-day rover of the Spanish Main. Tintypes and
photographs were the weapons with which Keogh
and Clancy were at that time assailing the hopeless shores. Outside the shop were set two large frames
filled with specimens of their art and skill.
Keogh leaned in the doorway, his bold and humor-
ous countenance wearing a look of interest at the
unusual influx of life and sound into the street. When
the meaning of the disturbance became clear to him
he placed a hand beside his mouth and shouted:
"Hey! Frank!" in such a robustious voice that the
feeble clamour of the natives was drowned and
silenced.
Fifty yards away, on the seaward side of the street,
stood the abode of the consul for the United States.
Out from the door of this building tumbled Goodwin
at the call. He had been smoking with Willard Ged-
die, the consul, on the back porch of the consulate,
which was conceded to be the coolest spot in Coralio.
"Hurry up," shouted Keogh. "There's a riot in
town on account of a telegram that's come for you.
You want to be careful about these things, my boy.
It won't do to trifle with the feelings of the public 14 Cabbages and Kings
this way. You'll be getting a pink note some day
with violet scent on it; and then the country'll be
steeped in the throes of a revolution."
Goodwin had strolled up the street and met the
boy with the message. The ox-eyed women gazed
at him with shy admiration, for his type drew them.
He was big, blonde, and jauntily dressed in white
linen, with buckskin zapatos. His manner was
courtly, with a sort of kindly truculence in it, tem-
pered by a merciful eye. When the telegram had
been delivered, and the bearer of it dismissed with a
gratuity, the relieved populace returned to the con-
tiguities of shade from which curiosity had drawn
it — the women to their baking in the mud ovens
under the orange-trees, or to the interminable comb-
ing of their long, straight hair; the men to their
cigarettes and gossip in the cantinas.
Goodwin sat on Keogh's doorstep, and read his
telegram. It was from Bob Englehart, an American,
who lived in San Mateo, the capital city of Anchuria,
eighty miles in the interior. Englehart was a gold
miner, an ardent revolutionist and "good people."
That he was a man of resource and imagination was Fox-in-the-Morning 15
proven by the telegram he had sent. It had been his
task to send a confidential message to his friend in
Coralio. This could not have been accomplished in
either Spanish or English, for the eye politic in Anchuria was an active one. The Ins and the Outs
were perpetually on their guard. But Englehart
was a diplomatist. There existed but one code upon
which he might make requisition with promise of
safety — the great and potent code of Slang. So,
here is the message that slipped, unconstrued,
through the fingers of curious officials, and came to
the eye of Goodwin:
"His Nibs skedaddled yesterday per jack-rabbit
line with all the coin in the kitty and the bundle of
muslin he's spoony about. The boodle is six figures
short. Our crowd in good shape, but we need the
spondulicks. You collar it. The main guy and the
dry goods are headed for the briny. You know
what to do. BOB."
This screed, remarkable as it was, had no mystery
for Goodwin. He was the most successful of the
small advance-guard of speculative Americans that
had invaded Anchuria, and he had not reached that 16 Cabbages and Kings
enviable pinnacle without having well exercised the
arts of foresight and deduction. He had taken up
political intrigue as a matter of business. He was
acute enough to wield a certain influence among the
leading schemers, and he was prosperous enough to
be able to purchase the respect of the petty office-
holders. There was always a revolutionary party;
and to it he had always allied himself; for the adhe-
rents of a new administration received the rewards
of their labours. There was now a Liberal party
seeking to overturn President Miraflores. If the
wheel successfully revolved, Goodwin stood to win a
concession to 30,000 manzanas of the finest coffee
lands in the interior. Certain incidents in the recent
career of President Miraflores had excited a shrewd
suspicion in Goodwin's mind that the government
was near a dissolution from another cause than that
of a revolution, and now Englehart's telegram had
come as a corroboration of his wisdom.
The telegram, which had remained unintelligible to
the Anchurian linguists who had applied to it in vain
their knowledge of Spanish and elemental English,
conveyed a stimulating piece of news to Goodwin's Fox-in-the-Morning 17
understanding. It informed him that the president
of the republic had decamped from the capital city
with the contents of the treasury. Furthermore, that
he was accompanied in his flight by that winning
adventuress Isabel Guilbert, the opera singer, whose
troupe of performers had been entertained by the
president at San Mateo during the past month on a
scale less modest than that with which royal visitors
are often content. The reference to the "jack-rab-
bit line" could mean nothing else than the mule-back
system of transport that prevailed between Coralio
and the capital. The hint that the "boodle" was
"six figures short" made the condition of the national
treasury lamentably clear. Also it was convincingly
true that the ingoing party — its way now made a
pacific one — would need the "spondulicks." Un-
less its pledges should be fulfilled, and the spoils held
for the delectation of the victors, precarious indeed,
would be the position of the new government. There-
fore it was exceeding necessary to "collar the main
guy," and recapture the sinews of war and govern-
ment.
Goodwin handed the message to Keogh.
18 Cabbages and Kings
"Read that, Billy," he said. "It's from Bob
Englehart. Can you manage the cipher?"
Keogh sat in the other half of the doorway, and
carefully perused the telegram.
"'Tis not a cipher," he said, finally. "Tis what
they call literature, and that's a system of language
put in the mouths of people that they've never been
introduced to by writers of imagination. The maga-
zines invented it, but I never knew before that Presi-
dent Norvin Green had stamped it with the seal of
his approval. 'Tis now no longer literature, but lan-
guage. The dictionaries tried, but they couldn't
make it go for anything but dialect. Sure, now that
the Western Union indorses it, it won't be long till
a race of people will spring up that speaks it."
"You're running too much to philology, Billy,"
said Goodwin. "Do you make out the meaning of
it?"
"Sure," replied the philosopher of Fortune. "All
languages come easy to the man who must know 'em.
I've even failed to misunderstand an order to evacuate
in classical Chinese when it was backed up by the
muzzle of a breech-loader. This little literary essay I Fox-in-the-Morning 19
hold in my hands means a game of Fox-in-the-Morn-
ing. Ever play that, Frank, when you was a kid?"
"I think so," said Goodwin, laughing. "You join
hands all 'round, and —"
"You do not," interrupted Keogh. "You've got
a fine sporting game mixed up in your head with 6 All
Around the Rosebush.' The spirit of 'Fox-in-the-
Morning' is opposed to the holding of hands. I'll
tell you how it's played. This president man and
his companion in play, they stand up over in San
Mateo, ready for the run, and shout: 'Fox-in-the-
Morning!' Me and you, standing here, we say:
'Goose and the Gander!' They say: 'How many
miles is it to London town?' We say: 'Only a few,
if your legs are long enough. How many comes out?'
They say: 'More than you're able to catch.' And
then the game commences."
"I catch the idea," said Goodwin. "It won't do
to let the goose and gander slip through our fingers,
Billy; their feathers are too valuable. Our crowd
is prepared and able to step into the shoes of the
government at once; but with the treasury empty
we'd stay in power about as long as a tenderfoot 20 Cabbages and Kings
would stick on an untamed bronco. We must play
the fox on every foot of the coast to prevent their get-
ting out of the country."
"By the mule-back schedule," said Keogh, "it's
five days down from San Mateo. We've got plenty
of time to set our outposts. There's only three places
on the coast where they can hope to sail from — here
and Solitas and Alazan. They're the only points
we'll have to guard. It's as easy as a chess problem
— fox to play, and mate in three moves. Oh, goosey,
goosey, gander, whither do you wander? By the
blessing of the literary telegraph the boodle of this
benighted fatherland shall be preserved to the honest
political party that is seeking to overthrow it."
The situation had been justly outlined by Keogh.
The down trail from the capital was at all times a
weary road to travel. A jiggety-joggety journey it
was; ice-cold and hot, wet and dry. The trail
climbed appalling mountains, wound like a rotten
string about the brows of breathless precipices,
plunged through chilling snow-fed streams, and wrig-
gled like a snake through sunless forests teeming with
menacing insect and animal life. After descending Fox-in-the-Morning 21
to the foothills it turned to a trident, the central prong
ending at Alazan. Another branched off to Coralio;
the third penetrated to Solitas. Between the sea and
the foothills stretched the five miles breadth of allu-
vial coast. Here was the flora of the tropics in its
rankest and most prodigal growth. Spaces here and
there had been wrested from the jungle and planted
with bananas and cane and orange groves. The rest
was a riot of wild vegetation, the home of monkeys,
tapirs, jaguars, alligators and prodigious reptiles and
insects. Where no road was cut a serpent could
scarcely make its way through the tangle of vines
and creepers. Across the treacherous mangrove
swamps few things without wings could safely pass.
Therefore the fugitives could hope to reach the coast
only by one of the routes named.
"Keep the matter quiet, Billy," advised Goodwin.
"We don't want the Ins to know that the president is
in flight. I suppose Bob's information is something
of a scoop in the capital as yet. Otherwise he would
not have tried to make his message a confidential
one; and, besides, everybody would have heard the
news. I'm going around now to see Dr. Zavalla, 22 Cabbages and Kings
and start a man up the trail to cut the telegraph
wire."
As Goodwin rose, Keogh threw his hat upon the
grass by the door and expelled a tremendous sigh.
"What's the trouble, Billy?" asked Goodwin,
pausing. "That's the first time I ever heard you
sigh."
"'Tis the last," said Keogh. "With that sorrow-
ful puff of wind I resign myself to a life of praise-
worthy but harassing honesty. What are tintypes,
if you please, to the opportunities of the great and
hilarious class of ganders and geese? Not that I
would be a president, Frank — and the boodle he's
got is too big for me to handle — but in some ways
I feel my conscience hurting me for addicting myself
to photographing a nation instead of running away
with it. Frank, did you ever see the 'bundle of mus-
lin ' that His Excellency has wrapped up and carried
off?"
"Isabel Guilbert ?" said Goodwin, laughing. "No,
I never did. From what I've heard of her, though,
I imagine that she wouldn't stick at anything to carry
her point. Don't get romantic, Billy. Sometimes Fox-in-the-Morning 23
I begin to fear that there's Irish blood in your ances-
try."
"I never saw her either," went on Keogh; "but
they say she's got all the ladies of mythology, sculp-
ture, and fiction reduced to chromos. They say she
can look at a man once, and he'll turn monkey and
climb trees to pick cocoanuts for her. Think of that
president man with Lord knows how many hundreds
of thousands of dollars in one hand, and this muslin siren in the other, galloping down hill on a sym-
pathetic mule amid songbirds and flowers! And
here is Billy Keogh, because he is virtuous, con-
demned to the unprofitable swindle of slandering the
faces of missing links on tin for an honest living! 'Tis
an injustice of nature."
"Cheer up," said Goodwin. "You are a pretty
poor fox to be envying a gander. Maybe the en-
chanting Guilbert will take a fancy to you and your
tintypes after we impoverish her royal escort."
"She could do worse," reflected Keogh; "but she
won't. 'Tis not a tintype gallery, but the gallery of
the gods that she's fitted to adorn. She's a very
wicked lady, and the president man is in luck. But 24 Cabbages and Kings
I hear Clancy swearing in the back room for having
to do all the work." And Keogh plunged for the
rear of the "gallery," whistling gaily in a spontaneous
way that belied his recent sigh over the questionable
good luck of the flying president.
Goodwin turned from the main street into a much
narrower one that intersected it at a right angle.
These side streets were covered by a growth of
thick, rank grass, which was kept to a navigable
shortness by the machetes of the police. Stone side-
walks, little more than a ledge in width, ran along
the base of the mean and monotonous adobe houses.
At the outskirts of the village these streets dwindled
to nothing; and here were set the palm-thatched huts
of the Caribs and the poorer natives, and the shabby
cabins of negroes from Jamaica and the West India
islands. A few structures raised their heads above
the red-tiled roofs of the one-story houses — the bell
tower of the Calaboza, the Hotel de los Estranjeros,
the residence of the Vesuvius Fruit Company's
agent, the store and residence of Bernard Brannigan,
a ruined cathedral in which Columbus had once set
foot, and, most imposing of all, the Casa Morena — Fox-in-the-Morning 25
the summer "White House" of the President of An-
churia. On the principal street running along the
beach — the Broadway of Coralio — were the larger
stores, the government bodega and post-office, the
cuartel, the rum-shops and the market place.
On his way Goodwin passed the house of Bernard
Brannigan. It was a modern wooden building, two
stories in height. The ground floor was occupied
by Brannigan's store, the upper one contained the
living apartments. A wide cool porch ran around
the house half way up its outer walls. A handsome,
vivacious girl neatly dressed in flowing white leaned
over the railing and smiled down upon Goodwin.
She was no darker than many an Andalusian of high
descent; and she sparkled and glowed like a tropical
moonlight.
"Good evening, Miss Paula," said Goodwin,
taking off his hat, with his ready smile. There was
little difference in his manner whether he addressed
women or men. Everybody in Coralio liked to re-
ceive the salutation of the big American.
"Is there any news, Mr. Goodwin? Please don't
say no. Isn't it warm? I feel just like Mariana in -
26 Cabbages and Kings
her moated grange — or was it a range? — it's hot
enough."
"No, there's no news to tell, I believe/'id Good-
win, with a mischievous look in his eye, "except that
old Geddie is getting grumpier and crosser every day.
If something doesn't happen to relieve his mind I'll
have to quit smoking on his back porch — and there's
no other place available that is cool enough."
"He isn't grumpy," said Paula Brannigan, im-
pulsively, "when he —"
But she ceased suddenly, and drew back with a
deepening colour; for her mother had been a mestizo
lady, and the Spanish blood had brought to Paula
a certain shyness that was an adornment to the other
half of her demonstrative nature.
CHAPTER TWO
The Lotus and the Bottle
WlLLARD GEDDIE, consul for the United
States in Coralio, was working leisurely on his yearly
report. Goodwin, who had strolled in as he did
daily for a smoke on the much coveted porch, had
found him so absorbed in his work that he departed
after roundly abusing the consul for his lack of
hospitality.
"I shall complain to the civil service department,"
said Goodwin; —" or is it a department? — per-
haps it's only a theory. One gets neither civility nor
service from you. You won't talk; and you won't
set out anything to drink. What kind of a way is
that of representing your government?"
Goodwin strolled out and across to the hotel to see 28 Cabbages and Kings
if he could bully the quarantine doctor into a game
on Coralio's solitary billiard table. His plans were
completed for the interception of the fugitives from
the capital; and now it was but a waiting game that
he had to play.
The consul was interested in his report. He was
only twenty-four; and he had not been in Coralio
long enough for his enthusiasm to cool in the heat
of the tropics — a paradox that may be allowed
between Cancer and Capricorn.
So many thousand bunches of bananas, so many
thousand oranges and cocoanuts, so many ounces of
gold dust, pounds of rubber, coffee, indigo and sar-
saparilla — actually, exports were twenty per cent,
greater than for the previous year!
A little thrill of satisfaction ran through the consul.
Perhaps, he thought, the State Department, upon
reading his introduction, would notice — and then
he leaned back in his chair and laughed. He was
getting as bad as the others. For the moment he
had forgotten that Coralio was an insignificant town
in an insignificant republic lying along the by-ways
of a second-rate sea. He thought of Gregg, the quar-
The Lotus and the Bottle 29
antine doctor, who subscribed for the London Lancet,
expecting to find it quoting his reports to the home
Board of Health concerning the yellow fever germ.
The consul knew that not one in fifty of his acquaint-
ances in the States had ever heard of Coralio. He
knew that two men, at any rate, would have to read
his report — some underling in the State Department
and a compositor in the Public Printing Office. Per-
haps the typesticker would note the increase of com-
merce in Coralio, and speak of it, over the cheese and
beer, to a friend.
He had just written: "Most unaccountable is
the supineness of the large exporters in the United
States in permitting the French and German houses
to practically control the trade interests of this rich
and pro luctive country"— when he heard the
hoarse notes of a steamer's siren.
Geddie laid down his pen and gathered his Pan-
ama hat and umbrella. By the sound he knew it to
be the Valhalla, one of the line of fruit vessels plying
for the Vesuvius Company. Down to ninos of five
years, everyone in Coralio could name you each in-
coming steamer by the note of her siren.
30 Cabbages and Kings
The consul sauntered by a roundabout, shaded
way to the beach. By reason of long practice he
gauged his stroll so accurately that by the time he
arrived on the sandy shore the boat of the customs
officials was rowing back from the steamer, which
had been boarded and inspected according to the
laws of Anchuria.
There is no harbour at Coralio. Vessels of the
draught of the Valhalla must ride at anchor a mile
from shore. When they take on fruit it is conveyed
on lighters and freighter sloops. At Solitas, where
there was a fine harbour, ships of many kinds were
to be seen, but in the roadstead off Coralio scarcely
any save the fruiters paused. Now and then a tramp
coaster, or a mysterious brig from Spain, or a saucy
French barque would hang innocently for a few days
in the offing. Then the custom-house crew would
become doubly vigilant and wary. At night a sloop
or two would be making strange trips in and out
along the shore; and in the morning the stock of
Three-Star Hennessey, wines and drygoods in Coralio
would be found vastly increased. It has also been
said that the customs officials jingled more silver in The Lotus and the Bottle 31
the pockets of their red-striped trousers, and that the
record books showed no increase in import duties
received.
The customs boat and the Valhalla gig reached
the shore at the same time. When they grounded
in the shallow water there was still five yards of roll-
ing surf between them and dry sand. Then half-
clothed Caribs dashed into the water, and brought
in on their backs the Valhalla's purser and the little
native officials in their cotton undershirts, blue trou-
sers with red stripes, and flapping straw hats.
At college Geddie had been a treasure as a first-
baseman. He now closed his umbrella, stuck it up-
right in the sand, and stooped, with his hands resting
upon his knees. The purser, burlesquing the pitch-
er's contortions, hurled at the consul the heavy roll
of newspapers, tied with a string, that the steamer
always brought for him. Geddie leaped high and
caught the roll with a sounding "thwack." The
loungers on the beach — about a third of the popula-
tion of the town — laughed and applauded delight-
edly. Every week they expected to see that roll of
papers delivered and received in that same manner, 32 Cabbages and Kings
r
and they were never disappointed. Innovations did not flourish in Coralio.
The consul re-hoisted his umbrella and walked
back to the consulate.
This home of a great nation's representative was a
wooden structure of two rooms, with a native-built
gallery of poles, bamboo and nipa palm running on
three sides of it. One room was the official apart-
ment, furnished chastely with a flat-top desk, a ham-
mock, and three uncomfortable cane-seated chairs.
Engravings of the first and latest president of the
country represented hung against the wall. The
other room was the consul's living apartment.
It was eleven o'clock when he returned from the
beach, and therefore breakfast time. Chanca, the
Carib woman who cooked for him, was just serving
the meal on the side of the gallery facing the sea —
a spot famous as the coolest in Coralio. The break-
fast consisted of shark's fin soup, stew of land crabs,
breadfruit, a boiled iguana steak, aguacates, a
freshly cut pineapple, claret and coffee.
Geddie took his seat, and unrolled with luxurious
laziness his bundle of newspapers. Here in Coralio The Lotus and the Bottle 33
for two days or longer he would read of goings-on in
the world very much as we of the world read those
whimsical contributions to inexact science that as-
sume to portray the doings of the Martians. After
he had finished with the papers they would be sent
on the rounds of the other English-speaking resi-
dents of the town.
The paper that came first to his hand was one of
those bulky mattresses of printed stuff upon which
the readers of certain New York journals are sup-
posed to take their Sabbath literary nap. Opening
this the consul rested it upon the table, supporting its
weight with the aid of the back of a chair. Then he
partook of his meal deliberately, turning the leaves
from time to time and glancing half idly at the con-
tents.
Presently he was struck by something familiar to
him in a picture — a half-page, badly printed repro-
duction of a photograph of a vessel. Languidly in-
terested, he leaned for a nearer scrutiny and a view of
the florid headlines of the column next to the picture.
Yes; he was not mistaken. The engraving was
of the eight-hundred-ton yacht Idalia, belonging to
34 Cabbages and Kings
"that prince of good fellows, Midas of the money market, and society's pink of perfection, J. Ward Tolliver."
Slowly sipping his black coffee, Geddie read the
column of print. Following a listed statement of
Mr. Tolliver's real estate and bonds, came a descrip-
tion of the yacht's furnishings, and then the grain of
news no bigger than a mustard seed. Mr. Tolliver,
with a party of favoured guests, would sail the next
day on a six weeks' cruise along the Central American
and South American coasts and among the Bahama
Islands. Among the guests were Mrs. Cumberland
Payne and Miss Ida Payne, of Norfolk.
The writer, with the fatuous presumption that was
demanded of him by his readers, had concocted a
romance suited to their palates. He bracketed the
names of Miss Payne and Mr. Tolliver until he had
well-nigh read the marriage ceremony over them.
He played coyly and insinuatingly upon the strings
of "on dit" and "Madame Rumour" and "a little
bird" and "no one would be surprised," and ended
with congratulations.
Geddie, having finished his breakfast, took his pa-
The Lotus and the Bottle 35
pers to the edge of the gallery, and sat there in his
favourite steamer chair with his feet on the bamboo
railing. He lighted a cigar, and looked out upon the
sea. He felt a glow of satisfaction at finding he was
so little disturbed by what he had read. He told
himself that he had conquered the distress that had
sent him, a voluntary exile, to this far land of the
lotus. He could never forget Ida, of course; but
there was no longer any pain in thinking about her.
When they had had that misunderstanding and quar-
rel he had impulsively sought this consulship, with
the desire to retaliate upon her by detaching himself
from her world and presence. He had succeeded
thoroughly in that. During the twelve months of his
life in Coralio no word had passed between them,
though he had sometimes heard of her through the
dilatory correspondence with the few friends to
whom he still wrote. Still he could not repress a lit-
tle thrill of satisfaction at knowing that she had not
yet married Tolliver or anyone else. But evidently
Tolliver had not yet abandoned hope. Well, it made no difference to him now. He had
eaten of the lotus. He was happy and content in 36 Cabbages and Kings
this land of perpetual afternoon. Those old days of
life in the States seemed like an irritating dream.
He hoped Ida would be as happy as he was. The
climate as balmy as that of distant Avalon; the
fetterless, idyllic round of enchanted days; the life
among this indolent, romantic people — a life full of
music, flowers, and low laughter; the influence of the
imminent sea and mountains, and the many shapes
of love and magic and beauty that bloomed in the
white tropic nights — with all he was more than
content. Also, there was Paula Brannigan.
Geddie intended to marry Paula — if, of course,
she would consent; but he felt rather sure that she
would do that. Somehow, he kept postponing his
proposal. Several times he had been quite near to
it; but a mysterious something always held him back.
Perhaps it was only the unconscious, instinctive con-
viction that the act would sever the last tie that bound
him to his old world.
He could be very happy with Paula. Few of the
native girls could be compared with her. She had
attended a convent school in New Orleans for two
years; and when she chose to display her accom-
The Lotus and the Bottle 37
plishments no one could detect any difference be-
tween her and the girls of Norfolk and Manhattan.
But it was delicious to see her at home dressed, as
she sometimes was, in the native costume, with bare
shoulders and flowing sleeves.
Bernard Brannigan was the great merchant of
Coralio. Besides his store, he maintained a train of
pack mules, and carried on a lively trade with the
interior towns and villages. He had married a na-
tive lady of high Castilian descent, but with a tinge
of Indian brown showing through her olive cheek.
The union of the Irish and the Spanish had produced,
as it so often has, an offshoot of rare beauty and vari-
ety. They were very excellent people indeed, and
the upper story of their house was ready to be placed
at the service of Geddie and Paula as soon as he
should make up his mind to speak about it.
By the time two hours were whiled away the consul
tired of reading. The papers lay scattered about
him on the gallery. Reclining there, he gazed dream-
ily out upon an Eden. A clump of banana plants
interposed their broad shields between him and the
sun. The gentle slope from the consulate to the sea 38 Cabbages and Kings
was covered with the dark-green foliage of lemon-trees and orange-trees just bursting into bloom. A
lagoon pierced the land like a dark, jagged crystal,
and above it a pale ceiba-tree rose almost to the
clouds. The waving cocoanut palms on the beach
flared their decorative green leaves against the slate of an almost quiescent sea. His senses were cognizant
of brilliant scarlet and ochres amid the vert of the
coppice, of odours of fruit and bloom and the smoke
from Chanca's clay oven under the calabash-tree;
of the treble laughter of the native women in their
huts, the song of the robin, the salt taste of the breeze,
the diminuendo of the faint surf running along the
shore — and, gradually, of a white speck, growing to
a blur, that intruded itself upon the drab prospect of
the sea.
Lazily interested, he watched this blur increase
until it became the Idalia steaming at full speed,
coming down the coast. Without changing his posi-
tion he kept his eyes upon the beautiful white yacht
as she drew swiftly near, and came opposite to Coralio. Then, sitting upright, he saw her float stead-
ily past and on. Scarcely a mile of sea had separated The Lotus mid the Bottle 39
her from the shore. He had seen the frequent flash of
her polished brass work and the stripes of her deck-awnings — so much, and no more. Like a ship on
a magic lantern slide the Idalia had crossed the illu-
minated circle of the consul's little world, and was
gone. Save for the tiny cloud of smoke that was left
hanging over the brim of the sea, she might have
been an immaterial thing, a chimera of his idle brain.
Geddie went into his office and sat down to dawdle
over his report. If the reading of the article in the
paper had left him unshaken, this silent passing of
the Idalia had done for him still more. It had
brought the calm and peace of a situation from which
all uncertainty had been erased. He knew that men
sometimes hope without being aware of it. Now,
since she had come two thousand miles and had
passed without a sign, not even his unconscious self
need cling to the past any longer.
After dinner, when the sun was low behind the
mountains, Geddie walked on the little strip of beach
under the cocoanuts. The wind was blowing mildly
landward, and the surface of the sea was rippled by
tiny wavelets.
40 Cabbages and Kings
A miniature breaker, spreading with a soft4'swish"
upon the sand brought with it something round and
shiny that rolled back again as the wave receded.
The next influx beached it clear, and Geddie picked
it up. The thing was a long-necked wine bottle of
colourless glass. The cork had been driven in tight-
ly to the level of the mouth, and the end covered with
dark-red sealing-wax. The bottle contained only
what seemed to be a sheet of paper, much curled
from the manipulation it had undergone while being
inserted. In the sealing-wax was the impression of
a seal — probably of a signet-ring, bearing the initials
of a monogram; but the impression had been hastily
made, and the letters were past anything more cer-
tain than a shrewd conjecture. Ida Payne had
always worn a signet-ring in preference to any
other finger decoration. Geddie thought he could
make out the familiar "IP"; and a queer sen-
sation of disquietude went over him. More person-
al and intimate was this reminder of her than had
been the sight of the vessel she was doubtless on.
He walked back to his house, and set the bottle on
his desk.
The Lotus and the Bottle 41
Throwing off his hat and coat, and lighting a lamp
— for the night had crowded precipitately upon the
brief twilight — he began to examine his piece of sea
salvage.
By holding the bottle near the light and turning it
judiciously, he made out that it contained a double
sheet of note-paper filled with close writing; further,
that the paper was of the same size and shade as that
always used by Ida; and that, to the best of his be-
lief, the handwriting was hers. The imperfect glass
of the bottle so distorted the rays of light that he could
read no word of the writing; but certain capital let-
ters, of which he caught comprehensive glimpses, were
Ida's, he felt sure.
There was a little smile both of perplexity and
amusement in Geddie's eyes as he set the bottle down,
and laid three cigars side by side on his desk. He
fetched his steamer chair from the gallery, and
stretched himself comfortably. He would smoke
those three cigars while considering the problem.
For it amounted to a problem. He almost wished
that he had not found the bottle; but the bottle was
there. Why should it have drifted in from the sea,
42 Cabbages and Kings
whence come so many disquieting things, to disturb
his peace?
In this dreamy land, where time seemed so redund-
ant, he had fallen into the habit of bestowing much
thought upon even trifling matters.
He began to speculate upon many fanciful theo-
ries concerning the story of the bottle, rejecting each
in turn.
Ships in danger of wreck or disablement some-
times cast forth such precarious messengers calling
for aid. But he had seen the Idalia not three hours
before, safe and speeding. Suppose the crew had
mutinied and imprisoned the passengers below, and
the message was one begging for succour! But,
premising such an improbable outrage, would the
agitated captives have taken the pains to fill four
pages of note-paper with carefully penned arguments
to their rescue.
Thus by elimination he soon rid the matter of the
more unlikely theories, and was reduced — though
aversely — to the less assailable one that the bottle
contained a message to himself. Ida knew he was
in Coralio; she must have launched the bottle while The Lotus and the Bottle 43
the yacht was passing and the wind blowing fairly
toward the shore.
As soon as Geddie reached this conclusion a wrin-
kle came between his brows and a stubborn look set-
tled around his mouth. He sat looking out through
the doorway at the gigantic fire-flies traversing the
quiet streets.
If this was a message to him from Ida, what could
it mean save an overture toward a reconciliation?
And if that, why had she not used the same methods
of the post instead of this uncertain and even flippant
means of communication? A note in an empty bot-
tle, cast into the sea! There was something light and
frivolous about it, if not actually contemptuous.
The thought stirred his pride and subdued what-
ever emotions had been resurrected by the finding of
the bottle.
Geddie put on his coat and hat and walked out. He
followed a street that led him along the border of the
little plaza where a band was playing and people were
rambling, care-free and indolent. Some timorous
senoritas scurrying past with fire-flies tangled in the
jetty braids of their hair glanced at him with shy, flat-
44 Cabbages and Kings
tering eyes. The air was languorous with the scent of jasmin and orange-blossoms.
The consul stayed his steps at the house of Bernard
Brannigan. Paula was swinging in a hammock on
the gallery. She rose from it like a bird from its nest.
The colour came to her cheek at the sound of Geddie's voice.
He was charmed at the sight of her costume — a
flounced muslin dress, with a little jacket of white
flannel, all made with neatness and style. He sug-
gested a stroll, and they walked out to the old Indian
well on the hill road. They sat on the curb, and
there Geddie made the expected but long-deferred
speech. Certain though he had been that she would
not say him nay, he was thrilled with joy at the com-
pleteness and sweetness of her surrender. Here was
surely a heart made for love and steadfastness. Here
was no caprice or questionings or captious stand-
ards of convention.
When Geddie kissed Paula at her door that night
he was happier than he had ever been before. "Here
in this hollow lotus land, ever to live and He reclined"
seemed to him, as it has seemed to many mariners, the The Lotus and the Bottle 45
best as well as the easiest. His future would be an
ideal one. He had attained a Paradise without a ser-
pent. His Eve would be indeed a part of him, unbe-
guiled, and therefore more beguiling. He had made
his decision to-night, and his heart was full of serene,
assured content.
Geddie went back to his house whistling that finest
and saddest love song, "La Golondrina." At the
door his tame monkey leaped down from his shelf,
chattering briskly. The consul turned to his desk to
get him some nuts he usually kept there. Reaching
in the half-darkness, his hand struck against the bot-
tle. He started as if he had touched the cold rotund-
ity of a serpent.
He had forgotten that the bottle was there.
He lighted the lamp and fed the monkey. Then,
very deliberately, he lighted a cigar, and took the bottle
in his hand, and walked down the path to the beach.
There was a moon, and the sea was glorious. The
breeze had shifted, as it did each evening, and was
now rushing steadily seaward.
Stepping to the water's edge, Geddie hurled the un-
opened bottle far out into the sea. It disappeared for 46 Cabbages and Kings
a moment, and then shot upward twice its length.
Geddie stood still, watching it. The moonlight was
so bright that he could see it bobbing up and down
with the little waves. Slowly it receded from the
shore, flashing and turning as it went. The wind was
carrying it out to sea. Soon it became a mere speck,
doubtfully discerned at irregular intervals; and then
the mystery of it was swallowed up by the greater
mystery of the ocean. Geddie stood still upon the
beach, smoking and looking out upon the water.
"Simon! — Oh, Simon! — wake up there, Simon!"
bawled a sonorous voice at the edge of the water.
Old Simon Cruz was a half-breed fisherman and
smuggler who lived in a hut on the beach. Out of
his earliest nap Simon was thus awakened.
He slipped on his shoes and went outside. Just
landing from one of the Valhalla's boats was the third
mate of that vessel, who was an acquaintance of Si-
mon's, and three sailors from the fruiter.
"Go up, Simon," called the mate, "and find Dr.
Gregg or Mr. Goodwin or anybody that's a friend to
Mr. Geddie, and bring 'em here at once."
The Lotus and the Bottle 47
"Saints of the skies!" said Simon, sleepily, "noth-
ing has happened to Mr. Geddie?"
"He's under that tarpauling," said the mate, point-
ing to the boat, "and he's rather more than half
drownded. We seen him from the steamer nearly a
mile out from shore, swimmin' like mad after a bottle
that was floatin' in the water, outward bound. We
lowered the gig and started for him. He nearly had
his hand on the bottle, when he gave out and went
under. We pulled him out in time to save him,
maybe; but the doctor is the one to decide that."
"A bottle?" said the old man, rubbing his eyes.
He was not yet fully awake. "Where is the bottle?"
"Driftin' along out there some'eres," said the mate,
jerking his thumb toward the sea. "Get on with you,
Simon."
CHAPTER THREE
Smith
Goodwin and the ardent patriot, Zavalla, took
all the precautions that their foresight could contrive
to prevent the escape of President Miraflores and his
companion. They sent trusted messengers up the
coast to Solitas and Alazan to warn the local leaders
of the flight, and to instruct them to patrol the water
line and arrest the fugitives at all hazards should
they reveal themselves in that territory. After this
was done there remained only to cover the district
about Coralio and await the coming of the quarry.
The nets were well spread. The roads were so few,
the opportunities for embarkation so limited, and the
two or three probable points of exit so well guarded
that it would be strange indeed if there should slip Smith 49
through the meshes so much of the country's dignity,
romance, and collateral. The president would, with-
out doubt, move as secretly as possible, and en-
deavour to board a vessel by stealth from some
secluded point along the shore.
On the fourth day after the receipt of Englehart's
telegram the Karlsefin, a Norwegian steamer char-
tered by the New Orleans fruit trade, anchored off
Coralio with three hoarse toots of her siren. The
Karlsefin was not one of the line operated by the
Vesuvius Fruit Company. She was something of a
dilettante, doing odd jobs for a company that was
scarcely important enough to figure as a rival to the
Vesuvius. The movements of the Karlsefin were
dependent upon the state of the market. Sometimes
she would ply steadily between the Spanish Main
and New Orleans in the regular transport of fruit;
next she would be making erratic trips to Mobile
or Charleston, or even as far north as New York,
according to the distribution of the fruit supply.
Goodwin lounged upon the beach with the usual
crowd of idlers that had gathered to view the steamer.
Now that President Miraflores might be expected to 50 Cabbages and Kings
reach the borders of his abjured country at any time,
the orders were to keep a strict and unrelenting watch.
Every vessel that approached the shores might now be
considered a possible means of escape for the fugi-
tives; and an eye was kept even on the sloops and
dories that belonged to the sea-going contingent of
Coralio. Goodwin and Zavalla moved everywhere,
but without ostentation, watching the loopholes of
escape.
The customs officials crowded importantly into
their boat and rowed out to the Karlsefin. A boat
from the steamer landed her purser with his papers,
and took out the quarantine doctor with his green
umbrella and clinical thermometer. Next a swarm
of Caribs began to load upon lighters the thousands
of bunches of bananas heaped upon the shore and
row them out to the steamer. The Karlsefin had no
passenger list, and was soon done with the attention
of the authorities. The purser declared that the
steamer would remain at anchor until morning, tak-
ing on her fruit during the night. The Karlsefin had
come, he said, from New York, to which port her
latest load of oranges and cocoanuts had been con-
Smith 51
veyecL Two or three of the freighter sloops were
engaged to assist in the work, for the captain was
anxious to make a quick return in order to reap the
advantage offered by a certain dearth of fruit in the
States.
About four o'clock in the afternoon another of
those marine monsters, not very familiar in those
waters, hove in sight, following the fateful Idalia — a
graceful steam yacht, painted a light buff, clean-cut
as a steel engraving. The beautiful vessel hovered
off shore, see-sawing the waves as lightly as a duck
in a rain barrel. A swift boat manned by a crew
in uniform came ashore, and a stocky-built man
leaped to the sands.
The new-comer seemed to turn a disapproving
eye upon the rather motley congregation of native
Anchurians, and made his way at once toward Good-
win, who was the most conspicuously Anglo-Saxon
figure present. Goodwin greeted him with courtesy.
Conversation developed that the newly landed one
was named Smith, and that he had come in a yacht.
A meagre biography, truly; for the yacht was most
apparent; and the "Smith" not beyond a reasonable 52 Cabbages and Kings
guess before the revelation. Yet to the eye of Good-
win, who had seen several things, there was a dis-
crepancy between Smith and his yacht. A bullet-
headed man Smith was, with an oblique, dead eye
and the moustache of a cocktail-mixer. And unless
he had shifted costumes before putting off for shore
he had affronted the deck of his correct vessel clad
in a pearl-gray derby, a gay plaid suit and vaudeville
neckwear. Men owning pleasure yachts generally
harmonize better with them.
Smith looked business, but he was no advertiser.
He commented upon the scenery, remarking upon its
fidelity to the pictures in the geography; and then in-
quired for the United States consul. Goodwin
pointed out the starred-and-striped bunting hanging
above the little consulate, which was concealed be-
hind the orange-trees.
"Mr. Geddie, the consul, will be sure to be there,"
said Goodwin. "He was very nearly drowned a few
days ago while taking a swim in the sea, and the
doctor has ordered him to remain indoors for some
time."
Smith plowed his way through the sand to the con-
Smith 53
sulate, his haberdashery creating violent discord
against the smooth tropical blues and greens.
Geddie was lounging in his hammock, somewhat
pale of face and languid in pose. On that night
when the Valhalla's boat had brought him ashore
apparently drenched to death by the sea, Doctor
Gregg and his other friends had toiled for hours to
preserve the little spark of life that remained to him.
The bottle, with its impotent message, was gone out
to sea, and the problem that it had provoked was
reduced to a simple sum in addition — one and one
make two, by the rule of arithmetic; one by the
rule of romance.
There is a quaint old theory that man may have
two souls — a peripheral one which serves ordinarily,
and a central one which is stirred only at certain
times, but then with activity and vigour. While under
the domination of the former a man will shave, vote,
pay taxes, give money to his family, buy subscription
books and comport himself on the average plan. But
let the central soul suddenly become dominant, and
he may, in the twinkling of an eye, turn upon the part-
ner of his joys with furious execration; he may change 54 Cabbages and Kings
his politics while you could snap your fingers; he
may deal out deadly insult to his dearest friend; he
may get him, instanter, to a monastery or a dance
hall; he may elope, or hang himself — or he may
write a song or poem, or kiss his wife unasked, or give
his funds to the search of a microbe. Then the pe-
ripheral soul will return; and we have our safe, sane
citizen again. It is but the revolt of the Ego against
Order; and its effect is to shake up the atoms only
that they may settle where they belong.
Geddie's revulsion had been a mild one — no
more than a swim in a summer sea after so inglorious
an object as a drifting bottle. And now he was him-
self again. Upon his desk, ready for the post, was a
letter to his government tendering his resignation as
consul, to be effective as soon as another could be
appointed in his place. For Bernard Brannigan, who never did things in a half-way man-
ner, was to take Geddie at once for a partner in
his very profitable and various enterprises; and
Paula was happily engaged in plans for refurnish-
ing and decorating the upper story of the Brannigan
house.
Smith 55
The consul rose from his hammock when he saw
the conspicuous stranger in his door.
"Keep your seat, old man," said the visitor, with
an airy wave of his large hand. "My name's Smith;
and I've come in a yacht. You are the consul — is
that right? A big, cool guy on the beach directed
me here. Thought I'd pay my respects to the flag."
"Sit down," said Geddie. "I've been admiring
your craft ever since it came in sight. Looks like a
fast sailer. What's her tonnage?"
"Search me!" said Smith. "I don't know what
she weighs in at. But she's got a tidy gait. The
Rambler — that's her name — don't take the dust
of anything afloat. This is my first trip on her.
I'm taking a squint along this coast just to get
an idea of the countries where the rubber and red
pepper and revolutions come from. I had no
idea there was so much scenery down here. Why,
Central Park ain't in it with this neck of the
woods. I'm from New York. They get monkeys,
and cocoanuts, and parrots down here — is that
right?"
"We have them all," said Geddie. "I'm quite 56 Cabbages and Kings
sure that our fauna and flora would take a prize over Central Park."
"Maybe they would," admitted Smith, cheerfully.
"I haven't seen them yet. But I guess you've got
us skinned on the animal and vegetation question.
You don't have much travel here, do you?"
"Travel?" queried the consul. "I suppose you
mean passengers on the steamers. No; very few
people land in Coralio. An investor now and then —
tourists and sight-seers generally go further down the
coast to one of the larger towns where there is a har-
bour."
"I see a ship out there loading up with bananas,"
said Smith. "Any passengers come on her?"
"That's the Karlsefin" said the consul. "She's
a tramp fruiter — made her last trip to New York,
I believe. No; she brought no passengers. I saw
her boat come ashore, and there was no one. About
the only exciting recreation we have here is watching
steamers when they arrive; and a passenger on one of
them generally causes the whole town to turn out.
If you are going to remain in Coralio a while, Mr.
Smith, I'll be glad to take you around to meet some Smith 57
people. There are four or five American chaps that
are good to know, besides the native high-fliers."
"Thanks," said the yachtsman, "but I wouldn't
put you to the trouble. I'd like to meet the guys you
speak of, but I won't be here long enough to do much
knocking around. That cool gent on the beach
spoke of a doctor; can you tell me where I could find
him? The Rambler ain't quite as steady on her
feet as a Broadway hotel; and a fellow gets a touch
of seasickness now and then. Thought I'd strike
the croaker for a handful of the little sugar pills, in
case I need 'em."
"You will be apt to find Dr. Gregg at the hotel,"
said the consul. "You can see it from the door —
it's that two-story building with the balcony, where
the orange-trees are."
The Hotel de los Estranjeros was a dreary hostelry,
in great disuse both by strangers and friends. It
stood at a corner of the Street of the Holy Sepul-
chre. A grove of small orange-trees crowded against
one side of it, enclosed by a low, rock wall over which
a tall man might easily step. The house was of
plastered adobe, stained a hundred shades of colour 58 Cabbages and Kings
by the salt breeze and the sun. Upon its upper bal-
cony opened a central door and two windows con-
taining broad jalousies instead of sashes.
The lower floor communicated by two doorways
with the narrow, rock-paved sidewalk. The pul-
peria — or drinking shop — of the proprietress, Madama Timotea Ortiz, occupied the ground floor. On
the bottles of brandy, anisada, Scotch "smoke" and
inexpensive wines behind the little counter the dust
lay thick save where the fingers of infrequent cus-
tomers had left irregular prints. The upper story
contained four or five guest-rooms which were rarely
put to their destined use. Sometimes a fruit-grower,
riding in from his plantation to confer with his agent,
would pass a melancholy night in the dismal upper
story; sometimes a minor native official on some
trifling government quest would have his pomp and
majesty awed by Madama's sepulchral hospitality.
But Madama sat behind her bar content, not desir-
ing to quarrel with Fate. If anyone required meat,
drink or lodging at the Hotel de los Estranjeros they
had but to come, and be served. Estd bueno. If
they came not, why, then, they came not. Estd bueno.
Smith 59
As the exceptional yachtsman was making his way
down the precarious sidewalk of the Street of the Holy
Sepulchre, the solitary permanent guest of that decay-
ing hotel sat at its door, enjoying the breeze from the
sea.
Dr. Gregg, the quarantine physician, was a man
of fifty or sixty, with a florid face and the longest
beard between Topeka and Terra del Fuego. He
held his position by virtue of an appointment by the
Board of Health of a seaport city in one of the South-
ern states. That city feared the ancient enemy of
every Southern seaport — the yellow fever — and it
was the duty of Dr. Gregg to examine crew and pas-
sengers of every vessel leaving Coralio for prelim-
inary symptoms. The duties were light, and the
salary, for one who lived in Coralio, ample. Surplus
time there was in plenty; and the good doctor added
to his gains by a large private practice among the
residents of the coast. The fact that he did not
know ten words of Spanish was no obstacle; a pulse
could be felt and a fee collected without one being
a linguist. Add to the description the facts that the
doctor had a story to tell concerning the operation 60 Cabbages and Kings
of trepanning which no listener had ever allowed him
to conclude, and that he believed in brandy as a pro-
phylactic; and the special points of interest possessed
by Dr. Gregg will have become exhausted.
The doctor had dragged a chair to the sidewalk.
He was coatless, and he leaned back against the wall
and smoked, while he stroked his beard. Surprise
came into his pale blue eyes when he caught sight
of Smith in his unusual and prismatic clothes.
"You're Dr. Gregg — is that right?" said Smith,
feeling the dog's head pin in his tie. "The constable
— I mean the consul, told me you hung out at this
caravansary. My name's Smith; and I came in a
yacht. Taking a cruise around, looking at the mon-
keys and pineapple-trees. Come inside and have a
drink, Doc. This cafe looks on the blink, but I
guess it can set out something wet."
"I will join you, sir, in just a taste of brandy,"
said Dr. Gregg, rising quickly. "I find that as a
prophylactic a little brandy is almost a necessity in
this climate."
As they turned to enter the pulperia a native man,
barefoot, glided noiselessly up and addressed the Smith 61
doctor in Spanish. He was yellowish-brown, like
an over-ripe lemon; he wore a cotton shirt and rag-
ged linen trousers girded by a leather belt. His face
was like an animal's, live and wary, but without
promise of much intelligence. This man jabbered
with animation and so much seriousness that it
seemed a pity that his words were to be wasted.
Dr. Gregg felt his pulse.
"You sick ?" he inquired.
"Mi mujer estd enferma en la casa" said the man,
thus endeavouring to convey the news, in the only
language open to him, that his wife lay ill in her palm-thatched hut.
The doctor drew a handful of capsules filled with
a white powder from his trousers pocket. He
counted out ten of them into the native's hand, and
held up his forefinger impressively.
"Take one," said the doctor, "every two hours."
He then held up two fingers, shaking them emphati-
cally before the native's face. Next he pulled out
his watch and ran his finger round its dial twice.
Again the two fingers confronted the patient's nose.
"Two — two — two hours," repeated the doctor.
62 Cabbages and Kings
"Si, Smor," said the native, sadly.
He pulled a cheap silver watch from his own pocket
and laid it in the doctor's hand. "Me bring," said
he, struggling painfully with his scant English, "other
watchy to-morrow." Then he departed down-heart-
edly with his capsules.
"A very ignorant race of people, sir," said the
doctor, as he slipped the watch into his pocket.
"He seems to have mistaken my directions for
taking the physic for the fee. However, it is all
right. He owes me an account, anyway. The
chances are that he won't bring the other watch.
You can't depend on anything they promise you.
About that drink, now? How did you come
to Coralio, Mr. Smith? I was not aware that
any boats except the Karlsefin had arrived for
some days."
The two leaned against the deserted bar; and Ma-
dama set out a bottle without waiting for the doctor's
order. There was no dust on it.
After they had drank twice Smith said:
"You say there were no passengers on the Karl-
sefin, Doc? Are you sure about that? It seems to Smith 63
me I heard somebody down on the beach say that
there was one or two aboard."
"They were mistaken, sir. I myself went out
and put all hands through a medical examination, as
usual. The Karlsefin sails as soon as she gets her
bananas loaded, which will be about daylight in the
morning, and she got everything ready this after-
noon. No, sir, there was no passenger list. Like
that Three-Star? A French schooner landed two
slooploads of it a month ago. If any customs duties
on it went to the distinguished republic of Anchuria
you may have my hat. If you won't have another,
come out and let's sit in the cool a while. It isn't
often we exiles get a chance to talk with somebody
from the outside world."
The doctor brought out another chair to the side-
walk for his new acquaintance. The two seated
themselves.
"You are a man of the world," said Dr. Gregg;
"a man of travel and experience. Your decision in
a matter of ethics and, no doubt, on the points of
equity, ability and professional probity should be of
value. I would be glad if you will listen to the his-
64 Cabbages and Kings
tory of a case that I think stands unique in medical annals.
"About nine years ago, while I was engaged in the
practice of medicine in my native city, I was called
to treat a case of contusion of the skull. I made the
diagnosis that a splinter of bone was pressing upon
the brain, and that the surgical operation known
as trepanning was required. However, as the patient
was a gentleman of wealth and position, I called in for
consultation Dr.—"
Smith rose from his chair, and laid a hand, soft
with apology, upon the doctor's shirt sleeve.
"Say, Doc," he said, solemnly, "I want to hear
that story. You've got me interested; and I don't
want to miss the rest of it. I know it's a loola by the
way it begins; and I want to tell it at the next meeting
of the Barney O'Flynn Association, if you don't mind.
But I've got one or two matters to attend to first. If
I get 'em attended to in time I'll come right back and
hear you spiel the rest before bedtime — is that
right?"
"By all means," said the doctor, "get your busi-
ness attended to, and then return. I shall wait up Smith 65
for you. You see, one of the most prominent phy-
sicians at the consultation diagnosed the trouble as
a blood clot; another said it was an abscess, but I —"
"Don't tell me now, Doc. Don't spoil the story.
Wait till I come back. I want to hear it as it runs
off the reel — is that right?"
The mountains reached up their bulky shoulders
to receive the level gallop of Apollo's homing
steeds, the day died in the lagoons and in the shad-
owed banana groves and in the mangrove swamps,
where the great blue crabs were beginning to crawl to
land for their nightly ramble. And it died, at last,
upon the highest peaks. Then the brief twilight,
ephemeral as the flight of a moth, came and went;
the Southern Cross peeped with its topmost eye above
a row of palms, and the fire-flies heralded with their
torches the approach of soft-footed night.
In the offing the Karlsefin swayed at anchor, her
lights seeming to penetrate the water to countless
fathoms with their shimmering, lanceolate reflec-
tions. The Caribs were busy loading her by means
of the great lighters heaped full from the piles of
fruit ranged upon the shore.
66 Cabbages and Kings
On the sandy beach, with his back against a cocoa-
nut-tree and the stubs of many cigars lying around
him, Smith sat waiting, never relaxing his sharp gaze
in the direction of the steamer.
The incongruous yachtsman had concentrated
his interest upon the innocent fruiter. Twice
had he been assured that no passengers had come
to Coralio on board of her. And yet, with a per-
sistence not to be attributed to an idling voyager,
he had appealed the case to the higher court
of his own eyesight. Surprisingly like some gay-coated lizard, he crouched at the foot of the cocoanut palm, and with the beady, shifting eyes of
the selfsame reptile, sustained his espionage on
the Karlsefin.
On the white sands a whiter gig belonging to the
yacht was drawn up, guarded by one of the white-
ducked crew. Not far away in a pulperia on the
shore-following Calle Grande three other sailors swag-
gered with their cues around Coralio's solitary bil-
liard-table. The boat lay there as if under orders
to be ready for use at any moment. There was
in the atmosphere a hint of expectation, of waiting Smith 67
for something to occur, which was foreign to the air
of Coralio.
Like some passing bird of brilliant plumage, Smith
alights on this palmy shore but to preen his wings for
an instant and then to fly away upon silent pinions.
When morning dawned there was no Smith, no wait-
ing gig, no yacht in the offing. Smith left no inti-
mation of his mission there, no footprints to show
where he had followed the trail of his mystery on the
sands of Coralio that night. He came; he spake his
strange jargon of the asphalt and the cafes; he sat
under the cocoanut-tree, and vanished. The next
morning Coralio, Smithless, ate its fried plantain and
said: "The man of pictured clothing went him-
self away." With the siesta the incident passed,
yawning, into history.
So, for a time, must Smith pass behind the scenes
of the play. He comes no more to Coralio nor to
Doctor Gregg, who sits in vain, wagging his redund-
ant beard, waiting to enrich his derelict audience
with his moving tale of trepanning and jealousy.
But prosperously to the lucidity of these loose
pages, Smith shall flutter among them again. In the 68 Cabbages and Kings
nick of time he shall come to tell us why he strewed
so many anxious cigar stumps around the cocoanut
palm that night. This he must do; for, when he
sailed away before the dawn in his yacht Rambler,
he carried with him the answer to a riddle so big
and preposterous that few in Anchuria had ven-
tured even to propound it.
CHAPTER FOUR
Caught
ThE plans for the detention of the flying President
Miraflores and his companion at the coast line seemed
hardly likely to fail. Dr. Zavalla himself had gone
to the port of Alazan to establish a guard at that
point. At Coralio the Liberal patriot Varras could
be depended upon to keep close watch. Good-
win held himself responsible for the district about
Coralio.
The news of the president's flight had been dis-
closed to no one in the coast towns save trusted mem-
bers of the ambitious political party that was desir-
ous of succeeding to power. The telegraph wire
running from San Mateo to the coast had been cut
far up on the mountain trail by an emissary of 70 Cabbages and Kings
Zavalla's. Long before this could be repaired and
word received along it from the capital the fugitives
would have reached the coast and the question of
escape or capture been solved.
Goodwin had stationed armed sentinels at fre-
quent intervals along the shore for a mile in each
direction from Coralio. They were instructed to
keep a vigilant lookout during the night to prevent
Miraflores from attempting to embark stealthily by
means of some boat or sloop found by chance at the
water's edge. A dozen patrols walked the streets of
Coralio unsuspected, ready to intercept the truant
official should he show himself there.
Goodwin was very well convinced that no pre-
cautions had been overlooked. He strolled about
the streets that bore such high-sounding names and
were but narrow, grass-covered lanes, lending his
own aid to the vigil that had been intrusted to him
by Bob Englehart.
The town had begun the tepid round of its nightly
diversions. A few leisurely dandies, clad in white
duck, with flowing neckties, and swinging slim bam-
boo canes, threaded the grassy by-ways toward the Caught 71
houses of their favoured senoritas. Those who
wooed the art of music dragged tirelessly at whining
concertinas, or fingered lugubrious guitars at doors
and windows. An occasional soldier from the cuar-
tel, with flapping straw hat, without coat or shoes,
hurried by, balancing his long gun like a lance in one
hand. From every density of the foliage the giant
tree frogs sounded their loud and irritating clatter.
Further out, where the by-ways perished at the brink
of the jungle, the guttural cries of marauding bab-
oons and the coughing of the alligators in the black
estuaries fractured the vain silence of the wood.
By ten o'clock the streets were deserted. The oil
lamps that had burned, a sickly yellow, at random
corners, had been extinguished by some economical
civic agent. Coralio lay sleeping calmly between top-
pling mountains and encroaching sea like a stolen
babe in the arms of its abductors. Somewhere over
in that tropical darkness — perhaps already threading
the profundities of the alluvial lowlands — the high
adventurer and his mate were moving toward land's
end. The game of Fox-in-the-Morning should be
coming soon to its close.
72 Cabbages and Kings
Goodwin, at his deliberate gait, passed the long,
low cuartel where Coralio's contingent of Anchuria's
military force slumbered, with its bare toes pointed
heavenward. There was a law that no civilian might
come so near the headquarters of that citadel of war
after nine o'clock, but Goodwin was always forget-
ting the minor statutes.
"Quien vive?" shrieked the sentinel, wrestling
prodigiously with his lengthy musket.
"Americano," growled Goodwin, without turning
his head, and passed on, unhalted.
To the right he turned, and to the left up the street
that ultimately reached the Plaza Nacional. When
within the toss of a cigar stump from the intersecting
Street of the Holy Sepulchre, he stopped suddenly
in the pathway.
He saw the form of a tall man, clothed in black and
carrying a large valise, hurry down the cross-street in
the direction of the beach. And Goodwin's second
glance made him aware of a woman at the man's el-
bow on the farther side, who seemed to urge forward,
if not even to assist, her companion in their swift but
silent progress. They were no Coralians, those two,
Caught 73
Goodwin followed at increased speed, but without
any of the artful tactics that are so dear to the heart of
the sleuth. The American was too broad to feel the
instinct of the detective. He stood as an agent for
the people of Anchuria, and but for political reasons
he would have demanded then and there the money.
It was the design of his party to secure the imperilled
fund, to restore it to the treasury of the country, and
to declare itself in power without bloodshed or resist-
ance.
The couple halted at the door of the Hotel de los
Estranjeros, and the man struck upon the wood with
the impatience of one unused to his entry being
stayed. Madama was long in response; but after a
time her light showed, the door was opened, and the
guests housed.
Goodwin stood in the quiet street, lighting another
cigar. In two minutes a faint gleam began to show
between the slats of the jalousies in the upper story of
the hotel. "They have engaged rooms," said Good-
win to himself. "So, then, their arrangements for
sailing have yet to be made."
At that moment there came along one Esteba'n
74 Cabbages and Kings
Delgado, a barber, an enemy to existing govern-
ment, a jovial plotter against stagnation in any
form. This barber was one of Coralio's saddest
dogs, often remaining out of doors as late as
eleven, post meridian. He was a partisan Liberal;
and he greeted Goodwin with flatulent importance
as a brother in the cause. But he had something
important to tell.
"What think you, Don Frank!" he cried, in the
universal tone of the conspirator. "I have to-night
shaved la barba — what you call the 'weeskers' of the
Presidente himself, of this countree! Consider! He
sent for me to come. In the poor casita of an old
woman he awaited me — in a verree leetle house in
a dark place. Carramba! — el Senor Presidente to
make himself thus secret and obscured! I think he
desired not to be known — but, carajo! can you
shave a man and not see his face? This gold piece
he gave me, and said it was to be all quite still. I
think, Don Frank, there is what you call a chip over
the bug."
"Have you ever seen President Miraflores before?"
asked Goodwin,
Caught 75
"But once," answered Esteban. "He is tall; and
he had weeskers, verree black and sufficient."
"Was anyone else present when you shaved him?"
"An old Indian woman, Seiior, that belonged with
the casa, and one senorita—a ladee of so much beau-
tee ! — ah, Dios I"
"All right, Esteban," said Goodwin. "It's very
lucky that you happened along with your tonsorial in-
formation. The new administration will be likely to
remember you for this."
Then in a few words he made the barber acquaint-
ed with the crisis into which the affairs of the nation
had culminated, and instructed him to remain out-
side, keeping watch upon the two sides of the hotel
that looked upon the street, and observing whether
anyone should attempt to leave the house by any door
or window. Goodwin himself went to the door
through which the guests had entered, opened it and
stepped inside.
Madama had returned downstairs from her jour-
ney above to see after the comfort of her lodgers. Her
candle stood upon the bar. She was about to take a
thimbleful of rum as a solace for having her rest dis-
76 Cabbages and Kings
turbed. She looked up without surprise or alarm as her third caller entered.
"Ah! it is the Senor Goodwin. Not often does
he honour my poor house by his presence."
"I must come oftener," said Goodwin, with the Goodwin smile. "I hear that your cognac is the best between Belize to the north and Rio to the south. Set
out the bottle, Madama, and let us have the proof in
un vasito for each of us."
"My aguardiente," said Madama, with pride, "is
the best. It grows, in beautiful bottles, in the dark
places among the banana-trees. Si, Senor. Only at
midnight can they be picked by sailor-men who bring
them, before daylight comes, to your back door. Good
aguardiente is a verree difficult fruit to handle, Senor
Goodwin."
Smuggling, in Coralio, was much nearer than com-
petition to being the life of trade. One spoke of it
slyly, yet with a certain conceit, when it had been well
accomplished.
"You have guests in the house to-night," said
Goodwin, laying a silver dollar upon the counter.
"Why not?" said Madama, counting the change. Caught 77
"Two; but the smallest while finished to arrive. One
senor, not quite old, and one senorita of sufficient
handsomeness. To their rooms they have ascended,
not desiring the to-eat nor the to-drink. Two rooms
— Numero 9 and Numero 10."
"I was expecting that gentleman and that lady,99
said Goodwin. "I have important negocios that
must be transacted. Will you allow me to see
them?"
"Why not?" sighed Madama, placidly. "Why
should not Senor Goodwin ascend and speak to his
friends? Estd bueno. Room Numero 9 and room
Numero 10."
Goodwin loosened in his coat pocket the American
revolver that he carried, and ascended the steep, dark
stairway.
In the hallway above, the saffron light from a hang-
ing lamp allowed him to select the gaudy numbers
on the doors. He turned the knob of Number 9,
entered and closed the door behind him.
If that was Isabel Guilbert seated by the table in
that poorly furnished room, report had failed to do
her charms justice. She rested her head upon one 78 Cabbages and Kings
hand. Extreme fatigue was signified in every line of
her figure; and upon her countenance a deep per-
plexity was written. Her eyes were gray-irised, and
of that mould that seems to have belonged to the orbs
of all the famous queens of hearts. Their whites were
singularly clear and brilliant, concealed above the
irises by heavy horizontal lids, and showing a snowy
line below them. Such eyes denote great nobility,
vigour, and, if you can conceive of it, a most generous
selfishness. She looked up when the American en-
tered, with an expression of surprised inquiry, but
without alarm.
Goodwin took off his hat and seated himself, with
his characteristic deliberate ease, upon a corner of the
table. He held a lighted cigar between his fingers.
He took this familiar course because he was sure that
preliminaries would be wasted upon Miss Guilbert.
He knew her history, and the small part that the con-
ventions had played in it.
"Good evening," he said. "Now, madame, let
us come to business at once. You will observe that I
mention no names, but I know who is in the next
room, and what he carries in that valise. That is the Caught 79
point which brings me here. I have come to dictate
terms of surrender."
The lady neither moved nor replied, but steadily
regarded the cigar in Goodwin's hand.
"We," continued the dictator, thoughtfully regard-
ing the neat buckskin shoe on his gently swinging
foot—"I speak for a considerable majority of the
people — demand the return of the stolen funds be-
longing to them. Our terms go very little further
than that. They are very simple. As an accredited
spokesman, I promise that our interference will cease
if they are accepted. Give up the money, and you
and your companion will be permitted to proceed
wherever you will. In fact, assistance will be given
you in the matter of securing a passage by any out-
going vessel you may choose. It is on my personal
responsibility that I add congratulations to the gen-
tleman in Number 10 upon his taste in feminine
charms."
Returning his cigar to his mouth, Goodwin ob-
served her, and saw that her eyes followed it and
rested upon it with icy and significant concentration.
Apparently she had not heard a word he had said. 80 Cabbages and Kings
He understood, tossed the cigar out the window, and, with an amused laugh, slid from the table to his feet.
"That is better," said the lady. "It makes it pos-
sible for me to listen to you. For a second lesson in
good manners, you might now tell me by whom I am
being insulted."
"I am sorry," said Goodwin, leaning one hand on
the table, "that my time is too brief for devoting
much of it to a course of etiquette. Come, now; I
appeal to your good sense. You have shown your-
self, in more than one instance, to be well aware of
what is to your advantage. This is an occasion that
demands the exercise of your undoubted intelligence.
There is no mystery here. I am Frank Goodwin;
and I have come for the money. I entered this room
at a venture. Had I entered the other I would have
had it before now. Do you want it in words? The
gentleman in Number 10 has betrayed a great trust.
He has robbed his people of a large sum, and it is I
who will prevent their losing it. I do not say who
that gentleman is; but if I should be forced to see him
and he should prove to be a certain high official of the
republic, it will be my duty to arrest him. The house Caught 81
is guarded. I am offering you liberal terms. It is
not absolutely necessary that I confer personally with
the gentleman in the next room. Bring me the valise
containing the money, and we will call the affair
ended."
The lady arose from her chair and stood for a mo-
ment, thinking deeply.
"Do you live here, Mr. Goodwin?" she asked,
presently.
"Yes."
"What is your authority for this intrusion?"
"I am an instrument of the republic. I was ad-
vised by wire of the movements of the — gentleman
in Number 10."
"May I ask you two or three questions? I be-
lieve you to be a man more apt to be truthful than —
timid. What sort of a town is this — Coralio, I
think they call it?"
"Not much of a town," said Goodwin, smiling.
"A banana town, as they run. Grass huts, 'dobes,
five or six two-story houses, accommodations limited, population half-breed Spanish and Indian, Caribs
and blackamoors. No sidewalks to speak of, no 82 Cabbages and Kings
amusements. Rather unmoral. That's an offhand
sketch, of course."
"Are there any inducements, say in a social or in a
business way, for people to reside here?"
"Oh, yes," answered Goodwin, smiling broadly.
"There are no afternoon teas, no hand-organs, no de-
partment stores — and there is no extradition treaty."
"He told me," went on the lady, speaking as if to
herself, and with a slight frown, "that there were
towns on this coast of beauty and importance; that
there was a pleasing social order — especially an
American colony of cultured residents."
"There is an American colony," said Goodwin,
gazing at her in some wonder. "Some of the mem-
bers are all right. Some are fugitives from justice
from the States. I recall two exiled bank presidents,
one army paymaster under a cloud, a couple of manslayers, and a widow — arsenic, I believe, was the sus-
picion in her case. I myself complete the colony,
but, as yet, I have not distinguished myself by any
particular crime."
"Do not lose hope," said the lady, dryly; "I see
nothing in your actions to-night to guarantee you fur-
Caught 83
ther obscurity. Some mistake has been made; I do
not know just where. But him you shall not disturb
to-night. The journey has fatigued him so that he
has fallen asleep, I think, in his clothes. You talk of
stolen money! I do not understand you. Some
mistake has been made. I will convince you. Re-
main where you are and I will bring you the valise
that you seem to covet so, and show it to you."
She moved toward the closed door that connected
the two rooms, but stopped, and half turned and be-
stowed upon Goodwin a grave, searching look that
ended in a quizzical smile.
"You force my door," she said, "and you follow
your ruffianly behaviour with the basest accusations;
and yet"— she hesitated, as if to reconsider what she
was about to say —" and yet — it is a puzzling thing
— I am sure there has been some mistake."
She took a step toward the door, but Goodwin
stayed her by a light touch upon her arm. I have
said before that women turned to look at him in the
streets. He was the viking sort of man, big, good-
looking, and with an air of kindly truculence. She
was dark and proud, glowing or pale as her mood 84 Cabbages and Kings
moved her. I do not know if Eve were light or dark,
but if such a woman had stood in the garden I know
that the apple would have been eaten. This woman
was to be Goodwin's fate, and he did not know it; but
he must have felt the first throes of destiny, for, as he
faced her, the knowledge of what report named her
turned bitter in his throat.
"If there has been any mistake," he said, hotly, "it
was yours. I do not blame the man who has lost his
country, his honour, and is about to lose the poor con-
solation of his stolen riches as much as I blame you,
for, by Heaven! I can very well see how he was
brought to it. I can understand, and pity him. It is
such women as you that strew this degraded coast
with wretched exiles, that make men forget their
trusts, that drag—"
The lady interrupted him with a weary gesture.
"There is no need to continue your insults," she
said, coldly. "I do not understand what you are
saying, nor do I know what mad blunder you are
making; but if the inspection of the contents of a
gentleman's portmanteau will rid me of you, let us
delay it no longer."
Caught 85
She passed quickly and noiselessly into the other
room, and returned with the heavy leather valise,
which she handed to the American with an air of pa-
tient contempt.
Goodwin set the valise quickly upon the table and
began to unfasten the straps. The lady stood by,
with an expression of infinite scorn and weariness
upon her face.
The valise opened wide to a powerful, sidelong
wrench. Goodwin dragged out two or three articles
of clothing, exposing the bulk of its contents — pack-
age after package of tightly packed United States
bank and treasury notes of large denomination.
Reckoning from the high figures written upon the
paper bands that bound them, the total must have
come closely upon the hundred thousand mark.
Goodwin glanced swiftly at the woman, and saw,
with surprise and a thrill of pleasure that he wondered
at, that she had experienced an unmistakable shock.
Her eyes grew wide, she gasped, and leaned heavily
against the table. She had been ignorant, then, he
inferred, that her companion had looted the govern-
ment treasury. But why, he angrily asked himself.
86 Cabbages and Kings
should he be so well pleased to think this wandering
and unscrupulous singer not so black as report had
painted her?
A noise in the other room startled them both. The
door swung open, and a tall, elderly, dark complex-ioned man, recently shaven, hurried into the room.
All the pictures of President Miraflores represent
him as the possessor of a luxuriant supply of dark and
carefully tended whiskers; but the story of the bar-
ber, Esteb&n, had prepared Goodwin for the change.
The man stumbled in from the dark room, his eyes
blinking at the lamplight, and heavy from sleep.
"What does this mean?" he demanded in excel-
lent English, with a keen and perturbed look at the
American —" robbery?"
"Very near it," answered Goodwin. "But I
rather think I'm in time to prevent it. I represent
the people to whom this money belongs, and I have
come to convey it back to them." He thrust his
hand into a pocket of his loose, linen coat.
The other man's hand went quickly behind him.
"Don't draw," called Goodwin, sharply; "I've
got you covered from my pocket."
Caught 87
The lady stepped forward, and laid one hand upon
the shoulder of her hesitating companion. She
pointed to the table. "Tell me the truth — the
truth," she said, in a low voice. "Whose money is
that?"
The man did not answer. He gave a deep, long-
drawn sigh, leaned and kissed her on the forehead,
stepped back into the other room and closed the door.
Goodwin foresaw his purpose, and jumped for the
door, but the report of the pistol echoed as his hand
touched the knob. A heavy fall followed, and some
one swept him aside and struggled into the room of
the fallen man.
A desolation, thought Goodwin, greater than that
derived from the loss of cavalier and gold must have
been in the heart of the enchantress to have wrung
from her, in that moment, the cry of one turning to
the all-forgiving, all-comforting earthly consoler — to
have made her call out from that bloody and dishon-
oured room —"Oh, mother, mother, mother!"
But there was an alarm outside. The barber, Es-
teban, at the sound of the shot, had raised his voice;
and the shot itself had aroused half the town. A pat-
88 Cabbages and Kings
tering of feet came up the street, and official orders
rang out on the still air. Goodwin had a duty to per-
form. Circumstances had made him the custodian
of his adopted country's treasure. Swiftly cramming
the money into the valise, he closed it, leaned far
out of the window and dropped it into a thick orange-tree in the little inclosure below.
They will tell you in Coralio, as they delight in tell-
ing the stranger, of the conclusion of that tragic
flight. They will tell you how the upholders of the
law came apace when the alarm was sounded — the
Comandante in red slippers and a jacket like a head
waiter's and girded sword, the soldiers with their in-
terminable guns, followed by outnumbering officers
struggling into their gold lace and epaulettes; the
barefooted policemen (the only capables in the lot),
and ruffled citizens of every hue and description.
They say that the countenance of the dead man was
marred sadly by the effects of the shot; but he was
identified as the fallen president by both Goodwin
and the barber Esteban. On the next morning mes-
sages began to come over the mended telegraph wire; Caught 89
and the story of the flight from the capital was given
out to the public. In San Mateo the revolutionary
party had seized the sceptre of government, without
opposition, and the vivas of the mercurial populace
quickly effaced the interest belonging to the unfor-
tunate Miraflores.
They will relate to you how the new government
sifted the towns and raked the roads to find the valise
containing Anchuria's surplus capital, which the pres-
ident was known to have carried with him, but all in
vain. In Coralio Senor Goodwin himself led the
searching party which combed that town as carefully
as a woman combs her hair; but the money was not
found.
So they buried the dead man, without honours,
back of the town near the little bridge that spans the
mangrove swamp; and for a real a boy will show you
his grave. They say that the old woman in whose
hut the barber shaved the president placed the wooden
slab at his head, and burned the inscription upon it
with a hot iron.
You will hear also that Senor Goodwin, like a
tower of strength, shielded Dona Isabel Guilbert 90 Cabbages and Kings
through those subsequent distressful days; and that
his scruples as to her past career (if he had any) van-
ished; and her adventuresome waywardness (if she
had any) left her, and they were wedded and were
happy.
The American built a home on a little foot hill
near the town. It is a conglomerate structure of na-
tive woods that, exported, would be worth a fortune,
and of brick, palm, glass, bamboo and adobe. There
is a paradise of nature about it; and something of the
same sort within. The natives speak of its interior
with hands uplifted in admiration. There are floors
polished like mirrors and covered with hand-woven
Indian rugs of silk fibre, tall ornaments and pictures,
musical instruments and papered walls —" figure-it-
to-yourself !" they exclaim.
But they cannot tell you in Coralio (as you shall
learn) what became of the money that Frank Good-
win dropped into the orange-tree. But that shall
come later; for the palms are fluttering in the breeze,
bidding us to sport and gaiety.
CHAPTER FIVE
Cupid's Exile Number Two
ThE United States of America, after looking over
its stock of consular timber, selected Mr. John De
Graffenreid Atwood, of Dalesburg, Alabama, for a
successor to Willard Geddie, resigned.
Without prejudice to Mr. Atwood, it will have to
be acknowledged that, in this instance, it was the
man who sought the office. As with the self-ban-
ished Geddie, it was nothing less than the artful
smiles of lovely woman that had driven Johnny At-
wood to the desperate expedient of accepting office
under a despised Federal Government so that he
might go far, far away and never see again the false,
fair face that had wrecked his young life. The con-
sulship at Coralio seemed to offer a retreat sufficiently Cabbages and Kings
removed and romantic enough to inject the necessary
drama into the pastoral scenes of Dalesburg life.
It was while playing the part of Cupid's exile that
Johnny added his handiwork to the long list of casu-
alties along the Spanish Main by his famous ma-
nipulation of the shoe market, and his unparalleled
feat of elevating the most despised and useless weed
in his own country from obscurity to be a valuable
product in international commerce.
The trouble began, as trouble often begins instead
of ending, with a romance. In Dalesburg there was
a man named Elijah Hemstetter, who kept a general
store. His family consisted of one daughter called
Rosine, a name that atoned much for "Hemstetter."
This young woman was possessed of plentiful attrac-
tions, so that the young men of the community were
agitated in their bosoms. Among the more agitated
was Johnny, the son of Judge Atwood, who lived in
the big colonial mansion on the edge of Dalesburg.
It would seem that the desirable Rosine should
have been pleased to return the affection of an At-
wood, a name honoured all over the state long before
and since the war. It does seem that she should have Cupid's Exile Number Two 93
gladly consented to have been led into that stately
but rather empty colonial mansion. But not so.
There was a cloud on the horizon, a threatening,
cumulus cloud, in the shape of a lively and shrewd
young farmer in the neighbourhood who dared to
enter the lists as a rival to the high-born Atwood.
One night Johnny propounded to Rosine a ques-
tion that is considered of much importance by the
young of the human species. The accessories were
all there — moonlight, oleanders, magnolias, the
mock-bird's song. Whether or no the shadow of
Pinkney Dawson, the prosperous young farmer came
between them on that occasion is not known; but
Rosine's answer was unfavourable. Mr. John De
Graffenried Atwood bowed till his hat touched the
lawn grass, and went away with his head high, but
with a sore wound in his pedigree and heart. A
Hemstetter refuse an Atwood! Zounds!
Among other accidents of that year was a Demo-
cratic president. Judge Atwood was a warhorse of
Democracy. Johnny persuaded him to set the
wheels moving for some foreign appointment. He
would go away — away. Perhaps in years to come 94 Cabbages and Kings
Rosine would think how true, how faithful his love had
been, and would drop a tear — maybe in the cream she
would be skimming for Pink Dawson's breakfast.
The wheels of politics revolved; and Johnny was
appointed consul to Coralio. Just before leaving
he dropped in at Hemstetter's to say good-bye. There
was a queer, pinkish look about Rosine's eyes; and
had the two been alone, the United States might have
had to cast about for another consul. But Pink
Dawson was there, of course, talking about his 400-acre orchard, and the three-mile alfalfa tract, and
the 200-acre pasture. So Johnny shook hands with
Rosine as coolly as if he were only going to run up
to Montgomery for a couple of days. They had the
royal manner when they chose, those Atwoods.
"If you happen to strike anything in the way of a
good investment down there, Johnny,'' said Pink
Dawson, "just let me know, will you? I reckon I
could lay my hands on a few extra thousands 'most
any time for a profitable deal."
"Certainly, Pink," said Johnny, pleasantly. "If
I strike anything of the sort I'll let you in with
pleasure."
Cupid's Exile Number Two 95
So Johnny went down to Mobile and took a fruit
steamer for the coast of Anchuria.
When the new consul arrived in Coralio the
strangeness of the scenes diverted him much. He
was only twenty-two; and the grief of youth is not
worn like a garment as it is by older men. It has
its seasons when it reigns; and then it is unseated
for a time by the assertion of the keen senses.
Billy Keogh and Johnny seemed to conceive a
mutual friendship at once. Keogh took the new
consul about town and presented him to the hand-
ful of Americans and the smaller number of French
and Germans who made up the "foreign" contin-
gent. And then, of course, he had to be more for-
mally introduced to the native officials, and have
his credentials transmitted through an interpreter.
There was something about the young Southerner
that the sophisticated Keogh liked. His manner
was simple almost to boyishness; but he possessed
the cool carelessness of a man of far greater age and
experience. Neither uniforms nor titles, red tape
nor foreign languages, mountains nor sea weighed
upon his spirits. He was heir to all the ages, an 96 Cabbages and Kings
Atwood, of Dalesburg; and you might know every thought conceived in his bosom.
Geddie came down to the consulate to explain the
duties and workings of the office. He and Keogh
tried to interest the new consul in their description of
the work that his government expected him to per-
form.
"It's all right," said Johnny from the hammock
that he had set up as the official reclining place. "If
anything turns up that has to be done I'll let you
fellows do it. You can't expect a Democrat to work
during his first term of holding office."
"You might look over these headings," suggested
Geddie, "of the different lines of exports you will
have to keep account of. The fruit is classified; and
there are the valuable woods, coffee, rubber—"
"That last account sounds all right," interrupted
Mr. Atwood. "Sounds as if it could be stretched.
I want to buy a new flag, a monkey, a guitar and
a barrel of pineapples. Will that rubber account
stretch over 'em?"
"That's merely statistics," said Geddie, smiling.
"The expense account is what you want. It is Cupid's Exile Number Two 97
supposed to have a slight elasticity. The 'stationery'
items are sometimes carelessly audited by the State
Department."
"We're wasting our time," said Keogh. "This
man was born to hold office. He penetrates to the
root of the art at one step of his eagle eye. The
true genius of government shows its hand in every
word of his speech."
"I didn't take this job with any intention of work-
ing," explained Johnny, lazily. "I wanted to go
somewhere in the world where they didn't talk about
farms. There are none here, are there?"
"Not the kind you are acquainted with," answered
the ex-consul. "There is no such art here as agricul-
ture. There never was a plow or a reaper within
the boundaries of Anchuria."
"This is the country for me," murmured the con-
sul, and immediately he fell asleep.
The cheerful tintypist pursued his intimacy with
Johnny in spite of open charges that he did so to
obtain a preemption on a seat in that coveted spot,
the rear gallery of the consulate. But whether his
designs were selfish or purely friendly, Keogh 98 Cabbages and Kings
achieved that desirable privilege. Few were the
nights on which the two could not be found reposing
there in the sea breeze, with their heels on the railing,
and the cigars and brandy conveniently near.
One evening they sat thus, mainly silent, for their
talk had dwindled before the stilling influence of an
unusual night.
There was a great, full moon; and the sea was
mother-of-pearl. Almost every sound was hushed,
for the air was but faintly stirring; and the town lay
panting, waiting for the night to cool. Offshore lay the fruit steamer Andador, of the Vesuvius line,
full-laden and scheduled to sail at six in the morning.
There were no loiterers on the beach. So bright
was the moonlight that the two men could see the
small pebbles shining on the beach where the gentle
surf wetted them.
Then down the coast, tacking close to shore, slowly
swam a little sloop, white-winged like some snowy
sea fowl. Its course lay within twenty points of
the wind's eye; so it veered in and out again in long,
slow strokes like the movements of a graceful skater.
Again the tactics of its crew brought it close in-
Cupid's Exile Number Two 99
shore, this time nearly opposite the consulate; and
then there blew from the sloop clear and surprising
notes as if from a horn of elfland. A fairy bugle
it might have been, sweet and silvery and unexpected,
playing with spirit the familiar air of "Home, Sweet
Home."
It was a scene set for the land of the lotus. The
authority of the sea and the tropics, the mystery that
attends unknown sails, and the prestige of drifting
music on moonlit waters gave it an anodynous charm.
Johnny Atwood felt it, and thought of Dalesburg;
but as soon as Keogh's mind had arrived at a theory
concerning the peripatetic solo he sprang to the
railing, and his ear-rending yawp fractured the silence
of Coralio like a cannon shot.
"Mel-lin-ger a-hoy!"
The sloop was now on its outward tack; but from
it came a clear, answering hail:
"Good-bye, Billy . . . go-ing home — bye!"
The Andador was the sloop's destination. No
doubt some passenger with a sailing permit from
some up-the-coast point had come down in this sloop
to catch the regular fruit steamer on its return trip. 100 Cabbages and Kings
Like a coquettish pigeon the little boat tacked on its
eccentric way until at last its white sail was lost to
sight against the larger bulk of the fruiter's side.
"That's old H. P. Mellinger," explained Keogh,
dropping back into his chair. "He's going back to
New York. He was private secretary of the late
hot-foot president of this grocery and fruit stand that
they call a country. His job's over now; and I guess
old Mellinger is glad."
"Why does he disappear to music, like Zo-zo, the
magic queen?" asked Johnny. "Just to show 'em
that he doesn't care?"
"That noise you heard is a phonograph," said
Keogh. "I sold him that. Mellinger had a graft
in this country that was the only thing of its kind in
the world. The tooting machine saved it for him
once, and he always carried it around with him
afterward.'*
"Tell me about it," demanded Johnny, betraying
interest.
"I'm no disseminator of narratives," said Keogh.
"I can use language for purposes of speech; but
when I attempt a discourse the words come out as Cupid's Exile Number Two 101
they will, and they may make sense when they strike
the atmosphere, or they may not."
"I want to hear about that graft," persisted
Johnny. "You've got no right to refuse. I've told
you all about every man, woman and hitching post
in Dalesburg."
"You shall hear it," said Keogh. "I said my in-
stincts of narrative were perplexed. Don't you be-
lieve it. It's an art I've acquired along with many
other of the graces and sciences."
CHAPTER SIX
The Phonograph and the Graft
WHAT was this graft?" asked Johnny, with
the impatience of the great public to whom tales
are told.
"'Tis contrary to art and philosophy to give you
the information," said Keogh, calmly. "The art
of narrative consists in concealing from your audience
everything it wants to know until after you expose
your favourite opinions on topics foreign to the sub-
ject. A good story is like a bitter pill with the sugar
coating inside of it. I will begin, if you please, with
a horoscope located in the Cherokee Nation; and end
with a moral tune on the phonograph.
"Me and Henry Horsecollar brought the first
phonograph to this country. Henry was a quarter-
The Phonograph and the Graft 103
breed, quarter-back Cherokee, educated East in the
idioms of football, and West in contraband whisky,
and a gentleman, the same as you and me. He was
easy and romping in his ways; a man about six foot,
with a kind of rubber-tire movement. Yes, he was a
little man about five foot five, or five foot eleven. He
was what you would call a medium tall man of aver-
age smallness. Henry had quit college once, and
the Muscogee jail three times — the last-named
institution on account of introducing and selling
whisky in the territories. Henry Horsecollar never
let any cigar stores come up and stand behind him.
He didn't belong to that tribe of Indians.
"Henry and me met at Texarkana, and figured
out this phonograph scheme. He had $360 which
came to him out of a land allotment in the reservation.
I had run down from Little Rock on account of a
distressful scene I had witnessed on the street there.
A man stood on a box and passed around some gold
watches, screw case, stem-winders, Elgin movement,
very elegant. Twenty bucks they cost you over the
counter. At three dollars the crowd fought for the
tickers. The man happened to find a valise full of 104 Cabbages and Kings
them handy, and he passed them out like putting
hot biscuits on a plate. The backs were hard to un-
screw, but the crowd put its ear to the case, and they
ticked mollifying and agreeable. Three of these
watches were genuine tickers; the rest were only
kickers. Hey? Why, empty cases with one of them
horny black bugs that fly around electric lights in
'em. Them bugs kick off minutes and seconds in-
dustrious and beautiful. So, this man I was speak-
ing of cleaned up $288; and then he went away, be-
cause he knew that when it came time to wind
watches in Little Rock an entomologist would be
needed, and he wasn't one.
"So, as I say, Henry had $360, and I had $288.
The idea of introducing the phonograph to South
America was Henry's; but I took to it freely, being
fond of machinery of all kinds.
"'The Latin races,' says Henry, explaining easy
in the idioms he learned at college, 'are peculiarly
adapted to be victims of the phonograph. They have
the artistic temperament. They yearn for music and
color and gaiety. They give wampum to the hand-organ man and the four-legged chicken in the tent The Phonograph and the Graft 105
when they're months behind with the grocery and
the bread-fruit tree.'
"' Then/ says I, 'we'll export canned music to
the Latins; but I'm mindful of Mr. Julius Caesar's
account of 'em where he says: "Omnia Gallia in
tres partes divisa est;" which is the same as to say,
"We will need all of our gall in devising means to
tree them parties."'
"I hated to make a show of education; but I
was disinclined to be overdone in syntax by a mere
Indian, a member of a race to which we owe nothing
except the land on which the United States is
situated.
"We bought a fine phonograph in Texarkana —
one of the best make — and half a trunkful of records.
We packed up, and took the T. and P. for New
Orleans. From that celebrated centre of molasses
and disfranchised coon songs we took a steamer for
South America.
"We landed at Solitas, forty miles up the coast
from here. 'Twas a palatable enough place to look
at. The houses were clean and white; and to look
at 'em stuck around among the scenery they re-
106 Cabbages and Kings
minded you of hard-boiled eggs served with lettuce.
There was a block of skyscraper mountains in the
suburbs; and they kept pretty quiet, like they had
crept up there and were watching the town. And
the sea was remarking 'Sh-sh-sh' on the beach;
and now and then a ripe cocoanut would drop ker-
blip in the sand; and that was all there was doing.
Yes, I judge that town was considerably on the quiet.
I judge that after Gabriel quits blowing his horn,
and the car starts, with Philadelphia swinging to the
last strap, and Pine Gully, Arkansas, hanging onto
the rear step, this town of Solitas will wake up and
ask if anybody spoke.
"The captain went ashore with us, and offered to
conduct what he seemed to like to call the obsequies.
He introduced Henry and me to the United States
Consul, and a roan man, the head of the Department
of Mercenary and Licentious Dispositions, the way
it read upon his sign.
"' I touch here again a week from to-day,' says the
captain.
<ccBy that time,' we told him, 'we'll be amassing
wealth in the interior towns with our galvanized The Phonograph and the Graft 107
prima donna and correct imitations of Sousa's band
excavating a march from a tin mine/
"' Ye'll not,' says the captain. 'Ye'll be hypno-
tized. Any gentleman in the audience who kindly
steps upon the stage and looks this country in the
eye will be converted to the hypothesis that he's but
a fly in the Elgin creamery. Ye'll be standing knee
deep in the surf waiting for me, and your machine for
making Hamburger steak out of the hitherto re-
spected art of music will be playing "There's no
place like home."'
"Henry skinned a twenty off his roll, and received
from the Bureau of Mercenary Dispositions a paper
bearing a red seal and a dialect story, and no change.
"Then we got the consul full of red wine, and
struck him for a horoscope. He was a thin, youngish
kind of man, I should say past fifty, sort of French-Irish in his affections, and puffed up with disconsolation. Yes, he was a flattened kind of a man, in
whom drink lay stagnant, inclined to corpulence and
misery. Yes, I think he was a kind of Dutchman,
being very sad and genial in his ways.
fci ' The marvelous invention,' he says, * entitled the
108 Cabbages and Kings
phonograph, has never invaded these shores. The
people have never heard it. They would not believe
it if they should. Simple-hearted children of nature,
progress has never condemned them to accept the
work of a can-opener as an overture, and rag-time
might incite them to a bloody revolution. But you
can try the experiment. The best chance you have
is that the populace may not wake up when you
play. There's two ways,' says the consul, 'they may
take it. They may become inebriated with atten-
tion, like an Atlanta colonel listening to "Marching
Through Georgia," or they will get excited and trans-
pose the key of the music with an axe and yourselves
into a dungeon. In the latter case,' says the consul,
'I'll do my duty by cabling to the State Department,
and I'll wrap the Stars and Stripes around you when
you come to be shot, and threaten them with the
vengeance of the greatest gold export and financial
reserve nation on earth. The flag is full of bullet
holes now,' says the consul, 'made in that way. Twice before,' says the consul, 'I have cabled our government for a couple of gunboats to protect American citizens. The first time the Departm<
The Phonograph and the Graft 109
sent me a pair of gum boots. The other time was
when a man named Pease was going to be executed
here. They referred that appeal to the Secretary of
Agriculture. Let us now disturb the senor behind
the bar for a subsequence of the red wine.'
"Thus soliloquized the consul of Solitas to me
and Henry Horsecollar.
"But, notwithstanding, we hired a room that after-
noon in the Calle de los Angeles, the main street that
runs along the shore, and put our trunks there. 'Twas
a good-sized room, dark and cheerful, but small.
'Twas on a various street, diversified by houses and
conservatory plants. The peasantry of the city
passed to and fro on the fine pasturage between the
sidewalks. 'Twas, for the world, like an opera
chorus when the Royal Kafoozlum is about to
enter.
"We were rubbing the dust off the machine and
getting fixed to start business the next day, when a
big, fine-looking white man in white clothes stopped
at the door and looked in. We extended the invita-
tions, and he walked inside and sized us up. He
v j hewing a long cigar, and wrinkling his eyes, 110 Cabbages and Kings
meditative, like a girl trying to decide which dress to wear to the party.
"'New York?' he says to me finally.
"' Originally, and from time to time,' I says.
'Hasn't it rubbed off yet?'
"' It's simple,' says he, 'when you know how. It's
the fit of the vest. They don't cut vests right any-
where else. Coats, maybe, but not vests.'
"The white man looks at Henry Horsecollar and
hesitates.
"'Injun,' says Henry; 'tame Injun.'
"' Mellinger,' says the man —' Homer P. Mel-
linger. Boys, you're confiscated. You're babes in
the wood without a chaperon or referee, and it's my
duty to start you going. I'll knock out the props
and launch you proper in the pellucid waters of this tropical mud puddle. You'll have to be christened,
and if you'll come with me I'll break a bottle of wine
across your bows, according to Hoyle.'
"Well, for two days Homer P. Mellinger did the
honors. That man cut ice in Anchuria. He was
It. He was the Royal Kafoozlum. If me and
Henry was babes in the wood, he was a Robin Red-
The Phonograph and the Graft 111
breast from the topmost bough. Him and me and
Henry Horsecollar locked arms, and toted that pho-
nograph around, and had wassail and diversions.
Everywhere we found doors open we went inside
and set the machine going, and Mellinger called
upon the people to observe the artful music
and his two lifelong friends, the Senors Americanos.
The opera chorus was agitated with esteem,
and followed us from house to house. There
was a different kind of drink to be had with every
tune. The natives had acquirements of a pleasant
think in the way of a drink that gums itself to
the recollection. They chop off the end of a
green cocoanut, and pour in on the juice of it French
brandy and other adjuvants. We had them and
other things.
"Mine and Henry's money was counterfeit. Every-
thing was on Homer P. Mellinger. That man could
find rolls of bills concealed in places on his person
where Hermann the Wizard couldn't have conjured
out a rabbit or an omelette. He could have founded
universities, and made orchid collections, and then
had enough left to purchase the colored vote of his 112 Cabbages and Kings
country. Henry and me wondered what his graft was. One evening he told us.
"'Boys,' said he, 'I've deceived you. You think
I'm a painted butterfly; but in fact I'm the hardest
worked man in this country. Ten years ago I landed
on its shores; and two years ago on the point of its
jaw. Yes, I guess I can get the decision over this
ginger cake commonwealth at the end of any round
I choose. I'll confide in you because you are my
countrymen and guests, even if you have assaulted
my adopted shores with the worst system of noises
ever set to music.
"'My job is private secretary to the president of
this republic; and my duties are running it. I'm not
headlined in the bills, but I'm the mustard in the
salad dressing just the same. There isn't a law
goes before Congress, there isn't a concession granted,
there isn't an import duty levied but what H. P.
Mellinger he cooks and seasons it. In the front
office I fill the president's inkstand and search visit-
ing statesmen for dirks and dynamite; but in the
back room I dictate the policy of the government.
You'd never guess in the world how I got my pull. The Phonograph and the Graft 113
It's the only graft of its kind on earth. I'll put you
wise. You remember the old top-liner in the copy
book — " Honesty is the Best Policy?" That's it.
I'm working honesty for a graft. I'm the only honest
man in the republic. The government knows it; the
people know it; the boodlers know it; the foreign
investors know it. I make the government keep its
faith. If a man is promised a job he gets it. If
outside capital buys a concession it gets the goods.
I run a monopoly of square dealing here. There's
no competition. If Colonel Diogenes were to flash
his lantern in this precinct he'd have my address in-
side of two minutes. There isn't big money in it,
but it's a sure thing, and lets a man sleep of nights.'
"Thus Homer P. Mellinger made oration to me
and Henry Horsecollar. And, later, he divested him-
self of this remark:
"'Boys, I'm to hold a soiree this evening with a
gang of leading citizens, and I want your assistance.
You bring the musical corn sheller and give the affair
the outside appearance of a function. There's im-
portant business on hand, but it mustn't show. I can
talk to you people. I've been pained for years on ac-
114 Cabbages and Kings
count of not having anybody to blow off and brag to.
I get homesick sometimes, and I'd swap the entire
perquisites of office for just one hour to have a stein
and a caviare sandwich somewhere on Thirty-fourth
Street, and stand and watch the street cars go by, and
smell the peanut roaster at old Giuseppe's fruit stand.'
"'Yes,' said I, 'there's fine caviare at Billy Ren-
frew's cafe, corner of Thirty-fourth and—'
"'God knows it,' interrupts Mellinger, 'and if
you'd told me you knew Billy Renfrow I'd have in-
vented tons of ways of making you happy. Billy was
my side-kicker in New York. There is a man who
never knew what crooked was. Here I am working
Honesty for a graft, but that man loses money on it.
Carrambos! I get sick at times of this country. Every-
thing's rotten. From the executive down to the cof-
fee pickers, they're plotting to down each other and
skin their friends. If a mule driver takes off his hat
to an official, that man figures it out that he's a popu-
lar idol, and sets his pegs to stir up a revolution and
upset the administration. It's one of my little chores
as private secretary to smell out these revolutions and
affix the kibosh before they break out and scratch the The Phonograph and the Graft 115
paint off the government property. That's why I'm
down here now in this mildewed coast town. The
governor of the district and his crew are plotting to
uprise. I've got every one of their names, and they're
invited to listen to the phonograph to-night, compli-
ments of H. P. M. That's the way I'll get them in a
bunch, and things are on the programme to happen
to them.'
"We three were sitting at table in the cantina of the
Purified Saints. Mellinger poured out wine, and
was looking some worried; I was thinking.
"'They're a sharp crowd,' he says, kind of fretful.
'They're capitalized by a foreign syndicate after rub-
ber, and they're loaded to the muzzle for bribing. I'm
sick,' goes on Mellinger, 'of comic opera. I want to
smell East River and wear suspenders again. At
times I feel like throwing up my job, but I'm d—n fool
enough to be sort of proud of it. "There's Mellinger,"
they say here. "Por Dios I you can't touch him with a
million." I'd like to take that record back and show
it to Billy Renfrow some day; and that tightens my
grip whenever I see a fat thing that I could corral just
by winking one eye — and losing my graft. By—, 116 Cabbages and Kings
they can't monkey with me. They know it. What
money I get I make honest and spend it. Some day
I'll make a pile and go back and eat caviare with
Billy. To-night I'll show you how to handle a bunch
of corruptionists. I'll show them what Mellinger,
private secretary, means when you spell it with the
cotton and tissue paper off.'
"Mellinger appears shaky, and breaks his glass
against the neck of the bottle.
"I says to myself, 'White man, if I'm not mistaken
there's been a bait laid out where the tail of your eye
could see it.'
"That night, according to arrangements, me and
Henry took the phonograph to a room in a 'dobe
house in a dirty side street, where the grass was knee
high. 'Twas a long room, lit with smoky oil lamps.
There was plenty of chairs, and a table at the back end.
We set the phonograph on the table. Mellinger was
there, walking up and down, disturbed in his predica-
ments. He chewed cigars and spat 'em out, and he
bit the thumb nail of his left hand.
"By and by the invitations to the musicale came
sliding in by pairs and threes and spade flushes. The Phonograph and the Graft 117
Their colour was of a diversity, running from a
three-days' smoked meerschaum to a patent-leather
polish. They were as polite as wax, being devastated
with enjoyments to give Senor Mellinger the good
evenings. I understood their Spanish talk — I ran a
pumping engine two years in a Mexican silver mine,
and had it pat — but I never let on.
"Maybe fifty of 'em had come, and was seated,
when in slid the king bee, the governor of the dis-
trict. Mellinger met him at the door, and escorted
him to the grand stand. When I saw that Latin man
I knew that Mellinger, private secretary, had all the
dances on his card taken. That was a big, squashy
man, the colour of a rubber overshoe, and he had an
eye like a head waiter's.
"Mellinger explained, fluent, in the Castilian id-
ioms, that his soul was disconcerted with joy at in-
troducing to his respected friends America's greatest
invention, the wonder of the age. Henry got the
cue and run on an elegant brass-band record and the
festivities became initiated. The governor man had
a bit of English under his hat, and when the music
was choked off he says:
118 Cabbages and Kings
'Ver-r-ree fine. Gr-r-r-r-racias, the American
gentleemen, the so esplendeed moosic as to playee.'
"The table was a long one, and Henry and me sat
at the end of it next the wall. The governor sat at
the other end. Homer P. Mellinger stood at the side
of it. I was just wondering how Mellinger was go-
ing to handle his crowd, when the home talent sud-
denly opened the services.
"That governor man was suitable for uprisings
and policies. I judge he was a ready kind of man,
who took his own time. Yes, he was full of attention
and immediateness. He leaned his hands on the ta-
ble and imposed his face toward the secretary man.
"' Do the American senors understand Spanish?'
he asks in his native accents.
"'They do not,' says Mellinger.
"'Then listen,' goes on the Latin man, prompt.
'The musics are of sufficient prettiness,but not of ne-
cessity. Let us speak of business. I well know why we
are here, since I observe my compatriots. You had a
whisper yesterday, Senor Mellinger, of our proposals.
To-night we will speak out. We know that you
stand in the president's favour, and we know your The Phonograph and the Graft 119
influence. The government will be changed. We
know the worth of your services. We esteem your
friendship and aid so much that'— Mellinger raises
his hand, but the governor man bottles him up. 'Do
not speak until I have done.'
"The governor man then draws a package wrap-
ped in paper from his pocket, and lays it on the table
by Mellinger's hand.
"'In that you will find fifty thousand dollars in
money of your country. You can do nothing against
us, but you can be worth that for us. Go back to
the capital and obey our instructions. Take that
money now. We trust you. You will find with
it a paper giving in detail the work you will be
expected to do for us. Do not have the unwiseness
to refuse.'
"The governor man paused, with his eyes fixed
on Mellinger, full of expressions and observances. I
looked at Mellinger, and was glad Billy Renfrow
couldn't see him then. The sweat was popping out
on his forehead, and he stood dumb, tapping the little
package with the ends of his fingers. The colorado-
maduro gang was after his graft. He had only to 120 Cabbages and Kings
change his politics, and stuff five fingers in his inside
pocket.
"Henry whispers to me and wants the pause in the
programme interpreted. I whisper back: 'H. P. is
up against a bribe, senator's size, and the coons have
got him going.' I saw Mellinger's hand moving
closer to the package. 'He's weakening,' I whis-
pered to Henry. 'We'll remind him,' says Henry, * of
the peanut-roaster on Thirty-fourth Street, New
York.'
"Henry stooped down and got a record from the
basketful we'd brought, slid it in the phonograph,
and started her off. It was a cornet solo, very neat
and beautiful, and the name of it was 'Home, Sweet
Home.' Not one of them fifty odd men in the room
moved while it was playing, and the governor man
kept his eyes steady on Mellinger. I saw Mellinger's
head go up little by little, and his hand came creeping
away from the package. Not until the last note
sounded did anybody stir. And then Homer P. Mel-
linger takes up the bundle of boodle and slams it in
the governor man's face.
"' That's my answer,' says Mellinger, private sec-
The Phonograph and the Graft 121
retary,' and there'll be another in the morning. I have
proofs of conspiracy against every man of you. The
show is over, gentlemen.'
"'There's one more act,' puts in the governor
man. 'You are a servant, I believe, employed by the
president to copy letters and answer raps at the door.
I am governor here. Senores, I call upon you in the
name of the cause to seize this man.'
"That brindled gang of conspirators shoved back
their chairs and advanced in force. I could see where
Mellinger had made a mistake in massing his enemy
so as to make a grand-stand play. I think he made
another one, too; but we can pass that, Mellinger's
idea of a graft and mine being different, according to
estimations and points of view.
"There was only one window and door in that
room, and they were in the front end. Here was fifty
odd Latin men coming in a bunch to obstruct the leg-
islation of Mellinger. You may say there were three
of us, for me and Henry, simultaneous, declared New
York City and the Cherokee Nation in sympathy with
the weaker party.
"Then it was that Henry Horsecollar rose to a 122 Cabbages and Kings
point of disorder and intervened, showing, admirable,
the advantages of education as applied to the Ameri-
can Indian's natural intellect and native refinement.
He stood up and smoothed back his hair on each side
with his hands as you have seen little girls do when
they play.
Get behind me, both of you,' says Henry.
"6 What's it to be, chief?' I asked.
"'I'm going to buck centre,' says Henry, in his
football idioms. There isn't a tackle in the lot of
them. Follow me close, and rush the game.'
"Then that cultured Red Man exhaled an ar-
rangement of sounds with his mouth that made the
Latin aggregation pause, with thoughtfulness and
hesitations. The matter of his proclamation seemed
to be a co-operation of the Carlisle war-whoop with
the Cherokee college yell. He went at the chocolate
team like a bean out of a little boy's nigger shooter.
His right elbow laid out the governor man on the
gridiron, and he made a lane the length of the crowd
so wide that a woman could have carried a step-lad-
der through it without striking against anything. All
Mellinger and me had to do was to follow.
The Phonograph and the Graft 123
"It took us just three minutes to get out of that
street around to military headquarters, where Mel-
linger had things his own way. A colonel and a
battalion of bare-toed infantry turned out and went
back to the scene of the musicale with us, but the
conspirator gang was gone. But we recaptured the
phonograph with honours of war, and marched back
to the cuartel with it playing 'All Coons Look Alike
to Me.'
"The next day Mellinger takes me and Henry to
one side, and begins to shed tens and twenties.
"'I want to buy that phonograph,' says he. 'I
liked that last tune it played at the soiree.'
"6 This is more money than the machine is worth,'
says I.
""Tis government expense money,' says Mellin-
ger. 'The government pays for it, and it's getting
the tune-grinder cheap.'
"Me and Henry knew that pretty well. We knew
that it had saved Homer P. Mellinger's graft when he
was on the point of losing it; but we never let him
know we knew it.
"' Now you boys better slide off further down the 124 Cabbages and Kings
coast for a while,' says Mellinger, 'till I get the screws
put on these fellows here. If you don't they'll give
you trouble. And if you ever happen to see Billy
Renfrow again before I do, tell him I'm coming back
to New York as soon as I can make a stake — honest.'
"Me and Henry laid low until the day the steamer
came back. When we saw the captain's boat on the
beach we went down and stood in the edge of the
water. The captain grinned when he saw us.
"' I told you you'd be waiting,' he says. 'Where's
the Hamburger machine?'
"' It stays behind,' I says, 'to play "Home, Sweet
Home."'
"'I told you so,' says the captain again. 'Climb
in the boat.'
"And that," said Keogh, "is the way me and
Henry Horsecollar introduced the phonograph into
this country. Henry went back to the States, but
I've been rummaging around in the tropics ever since. They say Mellinger never travelled a mile after that
without his phonograph. I guess it kept him reminded
about his graft whenever he saw the siren voice of the
boodler tip him the wink with a bribe in its hand."
The Phonograph and the Graft 1£5
"I suppose he's taking it home with him as a sou-
venir," remarked the consul.
"Not as a souvenir," said Keogh. "He'll need
two of 'em in New York, running day and night."
CHAPTER SEVEN
Money Maze
The new administration of Anchuria entered
upon its duties and privileges with enthusiasm. Its
first act was to send an agent to Coralio with impera-
tive orders to recover, if possible, the sum of
money ravished from the treasury by the ill-fated
Miraflores.
Colonel Emilio Falcon, the private secretary of Losada, the new president, was despatched from the cap-
ital upon this important mission.
The position of private secretary to a tropical presi-
dent is a responsible one. He must be a diplomat, a
spy, a ruler of men, a body-guard to his chief, and a
smeller-out of plots and nascent revolutions. Often
he is the power behind the throne, the dictator of pol-
Money Maze 127
icy; and a president chooses him with a dozen times
the care with which he selects a matrimonial mate.
Colonel Falcon, a handsome and urbane gentle-
man of Castilian courtesy and debonnaire manners,
came to Coralio with the task before him of striking
upon the cold trail of the lost money. There he con-
ferred with the military authorities, who had received
instructions to co-operate with him in the search.
Colonel Falcon established his headquarters in one
of the rooms of the Casa Morena. Here for a week
he held informal sittings — much as if he were a kind
of unified grand jury — and summoned before him all
those whose testimony might illumine the financial
tragedy that had accompanied the less momentous
one of the late president's death.
Two or three who were thus examined, among
whom was the barber Esteban, declared that they
had identified the body of the president before its
burial.
"Of a truth," testified Esteban before the mighty
secretary, "it was he, the president. Consider! —
how could I shave a man and not see his face? He
sent for me to shave him in a small house. He had a 128 Cabbages and Kings
beard very black and thick. Had I ever seen the
president before? Why not? I saw him once ride
forth in a carriage from the vapor in Solitas. When
I shaved him he gave me a gold piece, and said there
was to be no talk. But I am a Liberal — I am de-
voted to my country — and I spake of these things to
Senor Goodwin."
"It is known," said Colonel Falcon, smoothly,
"that the late President took with him an American
leather valise, containing a large amount of money.
Did you see that?"
"De veras — no," Esteban answered. "The light
in the little house was but a small lamp by which I
could scarcely see to shave the President. Such a
thing there may have been, but I did not see it. No.
Also in the room was a young lady — a senorita of
much beauty — that I could see even in so small a
light. But the money, senor, or the thing in which it
was carried — that I did not see."
The comandante and other officers gave testimony
that they had been awakened and alarmed by the
noise of a pistol-shot in the Hotel de los Estranjeros.
Hurrying thither to protect the peace and dignity of
Money Maze 129
public, they found a man lying dead, with a
pistol clutched in his hand. Beside him was a young
woman, weeping sorely. Senor Goodwin was also in
the room when they entered it. But of the valise of
money they saw nothing.
Madame Timotea Ortiz, the proprietress of the
hotel in which the game of Fox-in-the-Morning had
been played out, told of the coming of the two guests
to her house.
"To my house they came," said she —" one senor,
not quite old, and one senorita of sufficient handsome-
ness. They desired not to eat or to drink — not even
of my aguardiente, which is the best. To their rooms
they ascended — Numero Nueve and Numero Diez.
Later came Senor Goodwin, who ascended to speak
with them. Then I heard a great noise like that of a
canon, and they said that the pobre Presidente had
shot himself. Estd bueno. I saw nothing of money
or of the thing you call veliz that you say he carried it
in."
Colonel Falcon soon came to the reasonable con-
clusion that if anyone in Coralio could furnish a clue
to the vanished money, Frank Goodwin must be the 130 Cabbages and Kings
man. But the wise secretary pursued a different
course in seeking information from the American.
Goodwin was a powerful friend to the new adminis-
tration, and one who was not to be carelessly dealt
with in respect to either his honesty or his courage.
Even the private secretary of His Excellency hesitated
to have this rubber prince and mahogany baron
haled before him as a common citizen of Anchuria. So
he sent Goodwin a flowery epistle, each word-petal
dripping with honey, requesting the favour of an in-
terview. Goodwin replied with an invitation to din-
ner at his own house.
Before the hour named the American walked over
to the Casa Morena, and greeted his guest frankly
and friendly. Then the two strolled, in the cool of
the afternoon, to Goodwin's home in the environs.
The American left Colonel Falcon in a big, cool,
shadowed room with a floor of inlaid and polished
woods that any millionaire in the States would have
envied, excusing himself for a few minutes. He
crossed a patio, shaded with deftly arranged awnings
and plants, and entered a long room looking upon the
sea in the opposite wing of the house. The broad Money Maze 131
jalousies were opened wide, and the ocean breeze
flowed in through the room, an invisible current of
coolness and health. Goodwin's wife sat near one of
the windows, making a water-color sketch of the af- *ternoon seascape.
Here was a woman who looked to be happy. And
more — she looked to be content. Had a poet been
inspired to pen just similes concerning her favour, he
would have likened her full, clear eyes, with their
white-encircled, gray irises, to moonflowers. With
none of the goddesses whose traditional charms have become coldly classic would the discerning rhyme-
ster have compared her. She was purely Paradisaic,
not Olympian. If you can imagine Eve, after the
eviction, beguiling the flaming warriors and serenely
re-entering the Garden, you will have her. Just so
human, and still so harmonious with Eden seemed
Mrs. Goodwin.
When her husband entered she looked up, and her
lips curved and parted; her eyelids fluttered twice or
thrice — a movement remindful (Poesy forgive us!) of
the tail-wagging of a faithful dog — and a little ripple
went through her like the commotion set up in a 132 Cabbages and Kings
weeping willow by a puff of wind. Thus she ever
acknowledged his coming, were it twenty times a day.
If they who sometimes sat over their wine in Coralio,
reshaping old, diverting stories of the madcap career
of Isabel Guilbert, could have seen the wife of Frank
Goodwin that afternoon in the estimable aura of her
happy wifehood, they might have disbelieved, or have
agreed to forget, those graphic annals of the life of the
one for whom their president gave up his country and
his honour.
"I have brought a guest to dinner," said Goodwin.
"One Colonel Falcon, from San Mateo. He is come
on government business. I do not think you will
care to see him, so I prescribe for you one of those
convenient and indisputable feminine headaches."
"He has come to inquire about the lost money, has
he not?" asked Mrs. Goodwin, going on with her
sketch.
"A good guess!" acknowledged Goodwin. "He
has been holding an inquisition among the natives
for three days. I am next on his list of witnesses,
but as he feels shy about dragging one of Uncle
Sam's subjects before him, he consents to give it the Money Maze 133
outward appearance of a social function. He will
apply the torture over my own wine and provender.""Has he found anyone who saw the valise of
money?"
"Not a soul. Even Madama Ortiz, whose eyes
are so sharp for the sight of a revenue official, does not
remember that there was any baggage."Mrs. Goodwin laid down her brush and sighed."I am so sorry, Frank," she said, "that they are
giving you so much trouble about the money. But
we can't let them know about it, can we?"
"Not without doing our intelligence a great injus-
tice," said Goodwin, with a smile and a shrug that he
had picked up from the natives. "Americano,
though I am, they would have me in the calaboza in
half an hour if they knew we had appropriated that
valise. No; we must appear as ignorant about the
money as the other ignoramuses in Coralio."
"Do you think that this man they have sent sus-
pects you?" she asked, with a little pucker of her
brows.
"He'd better not," said the American, carelessly.
"It's lucky that no one caught a sight of the valise ex-
134 Cabbages and Kings
cept myself. As I was in the rooms when the shot
was fired, it is not surprising that they should want to
investigate my part in the affair rather closely. But
there's no cause for alarm. This colonel is down on
the list of events for a good dinner, with a dessert of
American 'bluff' that will end the matter, I think."
Mrs. Goodwin rose and walked to the window.
Goodwin followed and stood by her side. She leaned
to him, and rested in the protection of his strength, as
she had always rested since that dark night on which
he had first made himself her tower of refuge. Thus
they stood for a little while.
Straight through the lavish growth of tropical
branch and leaf and vine that confronted them had
been cunningly trimmed a vista, that ended at the
cleared environs of Coralio, on the banks of the man-
grove swamp. At the other end of the aerial tunnel
they could see the grave and wooden headpiece that
bore the name of the unhappy President Miraflores.
From this window when the rains forbade the open,
and from the green and shady slopes of Goodwin's
fruitful lands when the skies were smiling, his wife
was wont to look upon that grave with a gentle Money Maze 135
sadness that was now scarcely a mar to her happi-
ness.
"I loved him so, Frank!" she said, "even after
that terrible flight and its awful ending. And you
have been so good to me, and have made me so happy.
It has all grown into such a strange puzzle. If they
were to find out that we got the money do you think
they would force you to make the amount good to the
government?"
"They would undoubtedly try," answered Good-
win. "You are right about its being a puzzle. And
it must remain a puzzle to Falcon and all his coun-
trymen until it solves itself. You and I, who know
more than anyone else, only know half of the solution.
We must not let even a hint about this money get
abroad. Let them come to the theory that the presi-
dent concealed it in the mountains during his journey,
or that he found means to ship it out of the country
before he reached Coralio. I don't think that Fal-
con suspects me. He is making a close investigation,
according to his orders, but he will find out nothing."
Thus they spake together. Had anyone over-
heard or overseen them as they discussed the lost 136 Cabbages and Kings
funds of Anchuria there would have been a second
puzzle presented. For upon the faces and in the
bearing of each of them was visible (if countenances
are to be believed) Saxon honesty and pride and hon-
ourable thoughts. In Goodwin's steady eye and firm
lineaments, moulded into material shape by the in-
ward spirit of kindness and generosity and courage,
there was nothing reconcilable with his words.
As for his wife, physiognomy championed her even
in the face of their accusive talk. Nobility was in her
guise; purity was in her glance. The devotion that
she manifested had not even the appearance of that
feeling that now and then inspires a woman to share
the guilt of her partner out of the pathetic greatness of
her love. No, there was a discrepancy here between
what the eye would have seen and the ear have heard.
Dinner was served to Goodwin and his guest in the
patio, under cool foliage and flowers. The American
begged the illustrious secretary to excuse the absence
of Mrs. Goodwin, who was suffering, he said, from a
headache brought on by a slight calentura.
After the meal they lingered, according to the cus-
tom, over their coffee and cigars. Colonel Falcon, Money Maze 137
with true Castilian delicacy, waited for his host to
open the question that they had met to discuss. He
had not long to wait. As soon as the cigars were
lighted, the American cleared the way by inquiring
whether the secretary's investigations in the town
had furnished him with any clue to the lost funds.
"I have found no one yet," admitted Colonel Fal-
con, "who even had sight of the valise or the money.
Yet I have persisted. It has been proven in the capi-
tal that President Miraflores set out from San Mateo
with one hundred thousand dollars belonging to the
government, accompanied by Senorita Isabel Guil-
bert, the opera singer. The Government, officially
and personally, is loathe to believe," concluded Col-
onel Falcon, with a smile, "that our late President's
tastes would have permitted him to abandon on the
route, as excess baggage, either of the desirable arti-
cles with which his flight was burdened."
"I suppose you would like to hear what I have to
say about the affair," said Goodwin, coming directly
to the point. "It will not require many words.
"On that night, with others of our friends here, I
was keeping a lookout for the president, having been 138 Cabbages and Kings
notified of his flight by a telegram in our national
cipher from Englehart, one of our leaders in the capi-
tal. About ten o'clock that night I saw a man and a
woman hurrying along the streets. They went to the
Hotel de los Estranjeros, and engaged rooms. I fol-
lowed them upstairs, leaving Esteban, who had come
up, to watch outside. The barber had told me that
he had shaved the beard from the president's face
that night; therefore I was prepared, when I entered
the rooms, to find him with a smooth face. When I
apprehended him in the name of the people he drew a
pistol and shot himself instantly. In a few minutes
many officers and citizens were on the spot. I sup-
pose you have been informed of the subsequent facts. M
Goodwin paused. Losada's agent maintained an
attitude of waiting, as if he expected a continuance.
"And now," went on the American, looking stead-
ily into the eyes of the other man, and giving each
word a deliberate emphasis, "you will oblige me by
attending carefully to what I have to add. I saw
no valise or receptacle of any kind, or any money be-
longing to the Republic of Anchuria. If President
Miraflores decamped with any funds belonging to the Money Maze 139
treasury of this country, or to himself, or to anyone
else, I saw no trace of it in the house or elsewhere, at
that time or at any other. Does that statement cover
the ground of the inquiry you wished to make of me?"
Colonel Falcon bowed, and described a fluent
curve with his cigar. His duty was performed.
Goodwin was not to be disputed. He was a loyal
supporter of the government, and enjoyed the full
confidence of the new president. His rectitude had
been the capital that had brought him fortune in Anchuria, just as it had formed the lucrative "graft" of
Mellinger, the secretary of Miraflores.
"I thank you, Senor Goodwin," said Falcon, "for
speaking plainly. Your word will be sufficient for
the president. But, Sertor Goodwin, I am instructed
to pursue every clue that presents itself in this matter.
There is one that I have not yet touched upon. Our
friends in France, senor, have a saying, 'Cherchez la
Jemine,' when there is a mystery without a clue. But
here we do not have to search. The woman who ac-
companied the late President in his flight must
surely—"
"I must interrupt you there," interposed Goodwin.
140 Cabbages and Kings
u It is true that when I entered the hotel for the pur-
pose of intercepting President Miraflores I found a
lady there. I must beg of you to remember that that
lady is now my wife. I speak for her as I do for my-
self. She knows nothing of the fate of the valise or
of the money that you are seeking. You will say to
his excellency that I guarantee her innocence. I do
not need to add to you, Colonel Falcon, that I do not
care to have her questioned or disturbed."
Colonel Falcon bowed again.
"Por supuesto, no!" he cried. And to indicate
that the inquiry was ended he added: "And now,
senor, let me beg of you to show me that sea view from
your galeria of which you spoke. I am a lover of the
sea."
In the early evening Goodwin walked back to the
town with his guest, leaving him at the corner of the
Calle Grande. As he was returning homeward one
"Beelzebub" Blythe, with the air of a courtier and
the outward aspect of a scarecrow, pounced upon him
hopefully from the door of a pulperia.
Blythe had been re-christened "Beelzebub" as an
acknowledgment of the greatness of his fall. Once,
Money Maze 141
in some distant Paradise Lost, he had foregathered
with the angels of the earth. But Fate had hurled
him headlong down to the tropics, where flamed in
his bosom a fire that was seldom quenched. In Coralio they called him a beachcomber; but he was, in
reality, a categorical idealist who strove to anamor-phosize the dull verities of life by the means of
brandy and rum. As Beelzebub, himself, might have
held in his clutch with unwitting tenacity his harp or
crown during his tremendous fall, so his namesake
had clung to his gold-rimmed eyeglasses as the only
souvenir of his lost estate. These he wore with impressiveness and distinction while he combed beaches and
extracted toll from his friends. By some mysterious
means he kept his drink-reddened face always smooth-
ly shaven. For the rest he sponged gracefully upon
whomsoever he could for enough to keep him pretty
drunk, and sheltered from the rains and night dews.
"Hallo, Goodwin!" called the derelict, airily. "I
was hoping I'd strike you. I wanted to see you par-
ticularly. Suppose we go where we can talk. Of
course you know there's a chap down here looking up
the money old Miraflores lost."
142 Cabbages and Kings
"Yes," said Goodwin," I've been talking with him.
Let's go into Espada's place. I can spare you ten
minutes."
They went into the pulperia and sat at a little table
upon stools with rawhide tops."Have a drink ?99 said Goodwin."They can't bring it too quickly," said Blythe.
"I've been in a drought ever since morning. Hi —
muchacho I — el aguardiente por acd.99
"Now, what do you want to see me about?" asked
Goodwin, when the drinks were before them.
"Confound it, old man," drawled Blythe, "why
do you spoil a golden moment like this with business?
I wanted to see you — well, this has the preference." He gulped down his brandy, and gazed longingly into
the empty glass.
"Have another?" suggested Goodwin.
"Between gentlemen," said the fallen angel, "I
don't quite like your use of that word 'another.' It
isn't quite delicate. But the concrete idea that the
word represents is not displeasing."
The glasses were refilled. Blythe sipped blissfully
from his, as he began to enter the state of a true idealist.
Money Maze 143
"I must trot along in a minute or two," hinted
Goodwin. "Was there anything in particular?"Blythe did not reply at once.
"Old Losada would make it a hot country," he re-
marked at length, "for the man who swiped that grip-
sack of treasury boodle, don't you think?"
"Undoubtedly, he would," agreed Goodwin
calmly, as he rose leisurely to his feet. "I'll be run-
ning over to the house now, old man. Mrs. Good-
win is alone. There was nothing important you had
to say, was there?"
"That's all," said Blythe. "Unless you wouldn't
mind sending in another drink from the bar as you go
out. Old Espada has closed my account to profit
and loss. And pay for the lot, will you, like a good
fellow?"
"All right," said Goodwin. "Buenas noches."
"Beelzebub" Blythe lingered over his cups, pol-
ishing his eyeglasses with a disreputable handker-
chief.
"I thought I could do it, but I couldn't," he
muttered to himself after a time. "A gentleman
can't blackmail the man that he drinks with."
CHAPTER EIGHT
The Admiral
SpILLED milk draws few tears from an Anchurian
administration. Many are its lacteal sources; and the
clocks' hands point forever to milking time. Even the
rich cream skimmed from the treasury by the be-
witched Miraflores did not cause the newly-installed
patriots to waste time in unprofitable regrets. The
government philosophically set about supplying the
deficiency by increasing the import duties and by
"suggesting" to wealthy private citizens that con-
tributions according to their means would be con-
sidered patriotic and in order. Prosperity was
expected to attend the reign of Losada, the new
president. The ousted office-holders and military
favourites organized a new "Liberal" party, and The Admiral 145
began to lay their plans for a re-succession. Thus
the game of Anchurian politics began, like a Chinese
comedy, to unwind slowly its serial length. Here
and there Mirth peeps for an instant from the wings
and illumines the florid lines.
A dozen quarts of champagne in conjunction with
an informal sitting of the president and his cabinet
led to the establishment of the navy and the appoint-
ment of Felipe Carrera as its admiral.
Next to the champagne the credit of the appoint-
ment belongs to Don Sabas Placido, the newly con-
firmed Minister of War.
The president had requested a convention of his
cabinet for the discussion of questions politic and
for the transaction of certain routine matters of state.
The session had been signally tedious; the business
and the wine prodigiously dry. A sudden, prankish
humour of Don Sabas, impelling him to the deed,
spiced the grave affairs of state with a whiff of agree-
able playfulness.
In the dilatory order of business had come a bulle-
tin from the coast department of Orilla del Mar
reporting the seizure by the custom-house officers 146 Cabbages and Kings
at the town of Coralio of the sloop Estrella del Noche
and her cargo of drygoods, patent medicines, granu-
lated sugar and three-star brandy. Also six Martini
rifles and a barrel of American whisky. Caught
in the act of smuggling, the sloop with its cargo
was now, according to law, the property of the
republic. The Collector of Customs, in making his report,
departed from the conventional forms so far as to
suggest that the confiscated vessel be converted to
the use of the government. The prize was the first
capture to the credit of the department in ten years.
The collector took opportunity to pat his depart-
ment on the back.
It often happened that government officers re-
quired transportation from point to point along the
coast, and means were usually lacking. Further-
more, the sloop could be manned by a loyal crew
and employed as a coast guard to discourage the per-
nicious art of smuggling. The collector also ven-
tured to nominate one to whom the charge of the
boat could be safely intrusted — a young man of
Coralio, Felipe Carrera — not, be it understood, one The Admiral 147
of extreme wisdom, but loyal and the best sailor
along the coast.
It was upon this hint that the Minister of War
acted, executing a rare piece of drollery that so en-
livened the tedium of executive session.
In the constitution of this small, maritime banana
republic was a forgotten section that provided for
the maintenance of a navy. This provision — with
many other wiser ones — had lain inert since the
establishment of the republic. Anchuria had no
navy and had no use for one. It was characteristic
of Don Sabas — a man at once merry, learned,
whimsical and audacious — that he should have dis-
turbed the dust of this musty and sleeping statute
to increase the humour of the world by so much as a
smile from his indulgent colleagues.
With delightful mock seriousness the Minister of
War proposed the creation of a navy. He argued
its need and the glories it might achieve with such
gay and witty zeal that the travesty overcame with
its humour even the swart dignity of President
Losada himself.
The champagne was bubbling trickily in the veins 148 Cabbages and Kings
of the mercurial statesmen. It was not the custom
of the grave governors of Anchuria to enliven their
sessions with a beverage so apt to cast a veil of dis-
paragement over sober affairs. The wine had been
a thoughtful compliment tendered by the agent of
the Vesuvius Fruit Company as a token of amicable
relations — and certain consummated deals — be-
tween that company and the republic of Anchuria.
The jest was carried to its end. A formidable,
official document was prepared, encrusted with chro-
matic seals and jaunty with fluttering ribbons, bear-
ing the florid signatures of state. This commission
conferred upon el Senor Don Felipe Carrera the title
of Flag Admiral of the Republic of Anchuria. Thus
within the space of a few minutes and the dominion
of a dozen "extra dry," the country took its place
among the naval powers of the world, and Felipe
Carrera became entitled to a salute of nineteen guns
whenever he might enter port.
The southern races are lacking in that particular
kind of humour that finds entertainment in the
defects and misfortunes bestowed by Nature. Ow-
ing to this defect in their constitution they are not The Admiral 149
moved to laughter (as are their northern brothers)
by the spectacle of the deformed, the feeble-minded
or the insane.
Felipe Carrera was sent upon earth with but half
his wits. Therefore, the people of Coralio called him
"El pobrecito loco" —" the poor little crazed one "—
saying that God had sent but half of him to earth,
retaining the other half.
A sombre youth, glowering, and speaking only at
the rarest times, Felipe was but negatively "loco."
On shore he generally refused all conversation. He
seemed to know that he was badly handicapped on
land, where so many kinds of understanding are
needed; but on the water his one talent set him equal
with most men. Few sailors whom God had care-
fully and completely made could handle a sailboat as
well. Five points nearer the wind than the best of
them he could sail his sloop. When the elements
raged and set other men to cowering, the deficiencies
of Felipe seemed of little importance. He was a
perfect sailor, if an imperfect man. He owned no
boat, but worked among the crews of the schooners
and sloops that skimmed the coast, trading and 150 Cabbages and Kings
freighting fruit out to the steamers where there was no harbour. It was through his famous skill and boldness on the sea, as well as for the pity felt for his mental imperfections, that he was recommended by the collector as a suitable custodian of the captured sloop.
When the outcome of Don Sabas' little pleasantry
arrived in the form of the imposing and preposterous
commission, the collector smiled. He had not ex-
pected such prompt and overwhelming response to
his recommendation. He despatched a muchacho at
once to fetch the future admiral.
The collector waited in his official quarters. His
office was in the Calle Grande, and the sea breezes
hummed through its windows all day. The col-
lector, in white linen and canvas shoes, philandered
with papers on an antique desk. A parrot, perched
on a pen rack, seasoned the official tedium with a fire
of choice Castilian imprecations. Two rooms open-
ed into the collector's. In one the clerical force of
young men of variegated complexions transacted
with glitter and parade their several duties. Through
the open door of the other room could be seen a The Admiral 151
bronze babe, guiltless of clothing, that rollicked upon
the floor. In a grass hammock a thin woman, tinted
a pale lemon, played a guitar and swung contentedly
in the breeze. Thus surrounded by the routine of
his high duties and the visible tokens of agreeable
domesticity, the collector's heart was further made
happy by the power placed in his hands to brighten
the fortunes of the "innocent" Felipe.
Felipe came and stood before the collector. He
was a lad of twenty, not ill-favoured in looks, but
with an expression of distant and pondering vacuity.
He wore white cotton trousers, down the seams of
which he had sewed red stripes with some vague
aim at military decoration. A flimsy blue shirt fell
open at his throat; his feet were bare; he held in his
hand the cheapest of straw hats from the States.
"Senor Carrera," said the collector, gravely, pro-
ducing the showy commission, "I have sent for you
at the president's bidding. This document that I
present to you confers upon you the title of Admiral
of this great republic, and gives you absolute com-
mand of the naval forces and fleet of our country.
You may think, friend Felipe, that we have no
152 Cabbages and Kings
navy — but yes! The sloop the Estrella del Noche,
that my brave men captured from the coast smug-
glers, is to be placed under your command. The boat
is to be devoted to the services of your country. You
will be ready at all times to convey officials of the
government to points along the coast where they
may be obliged to visit. You will also act as a coast-
guard to prevent, as far as you may be able, the crime
of smuggling. You will uphold the honour and pres-
tige of your country at sea, and endeavour to place
Anchuria among the proudest naval powers of the
world. These are your instructions as the Minister
of War desires me to convey them to you. Por
Dios! I do not know how all this is to be accom-
plished, for not one word did his letter contain in
respect to a crew or to the expenses of this navy. Per-
haps you are to provide a crew yourself, Senor Ad-
miral — I do not know — but it is a very high honour
that has descended upon you. I now hand you your
commission. When you are ready for the boat I
will give orders that she shall be made over into your
charge. That is as far as my instructions go."
Felipe took the commission that the collector The Admiral 153
handed to him. He gazed through the open window
at the sea for a moment, with his customary expres-
sion of deep but vain pondering. Then he turned
without having spoken a word, and walked swiftly
away through the hot sand of the street.
"Pobredto loco!" sighed the collector; and the
parrot on the pen racks creeched "Loco! — loco! —
loco!"
The next morning a strange procession filed
through the streets to the collector's office. At its
head was the admiral of the navy. Somewhere
Felipe had raked together a pitiful semblance of a
military uniform — a pair of red trousers, a dingy
blue short jacket heavily ornamented with gold braid,
and an old fatigue cap that must have been cast
away by one of the British soldiers in Belize and
brought away by Felipe on one of his coasting voy-
ages. Buckled around his waist was an ancient
ship's cutlass contributed to his equipment by Pedro
Lafitte, the baker, who proudly asserted its inheri-
tance from his ancestor, the illustrious buccaneer.
At the admiral's heels tagged his newly-shipped
crew — three grinning, glossy, black Caribs, bare to 154 Cabbages and Kings
the waist, the sand spurting in showers from the spring of their naked feet.
Briefly and with dignity Felipe demanded his
vessel of the collector. And now a fresh honour
awaited him. The collector's wife, who played the
guitar and read novels in the hammock all day, had
more than a little romance in her placid, yellow
bosom. She had found in an old book an engraving
of a flag that purported to be the naval flag of An-
churia. Perhaps it had so been designed by the
founders of the nation; but, as no navy had ever been
established, oblivion had claimed the flag. Labo-
riously with her own hands she had made a flag after
the pattern — a red cross upon a blue-and-white
ground. She presented it to Felipe with these words:
"Brave sailor, this flag is of your country. Be true,
and defend it with your life. Go you with God."
For the first time since his appointment the ad-
miral showed a flicker of emotion. He took the
silken emblem, and passed his hand reverently over
its surface. "I am the admiral," he said to the
collector's lady. Being on land he could bring him-
self to no more exuberant expression of sentiment. The Admiral 155
At sea with the flag at the masthead of his navy,
some more eloquent exposition of feelings might be
forthcoming.
Abruptly the admiral departed with his crew.
For the next three days they were busy giving the
Estrella del Noche a new coat of white paint trimmed
with blue. And then Felipe further adorned him-
self by fastening a handful of brilliant parrot's
plumes in his cap. Again he tramped with his faith-
ful crew to the collector's office and formally notified
him that the sloop's name had been changed to El
National.
During the next few months the navy had its trou-
bles. Even an admiral is perplexed to know what
to do without any orders. But none came. Neither
did any salaries. El National swung idly at anchor.
When Felipe's little store of money was exhausted
he went to the collector and raised the question of
finances.
"Salaries!" exclaimed the collector, with hands
iised; "Valgame Dios! not one centavo of my own
pay have I received for the last seven months. The
pay of an admiral, do you ask? Quien sabe? Should
156 Cabbages and Kings
it be less than three thousand pesos? Mira! you
will see a revolution in this country very soon. A
good sign of it is when the government calls all the
time for pesos, pesos, pesos, and pays none out."
Felipe left the collector's office with a look almost
of content on his sombre face. A revolution would
mean fighting, and then the government would need
his services. It was rather humiliating to be an
admiral without anything to do, and have a hungry
crew at your heels begging for reales to buy plantains
and tobacco with.
When he returned to where his happy-go-lucky
Caribs were waiting they sprang up and saluted, as
he had drilled them to do.
"Come, muchachos" said the admiral; "it seems
that the government is poor. It has no money to
give us. We will earn what we need to live upon.
Thus will we serve our country. Soon "— his heavy
eyes almost lighted up — "it may gladly call upon
us for help."
Thereafter El National turned out with the other
coast craft and became a wage-earner. She worked
with the lighters freighting bananas and oranges out The Admiral 157
to the fruit steamers that could not approach nearer
than a mile from the shore. Surely a self-supporting
navy deserves red letters in the budget of any nation.
After earning enough at freighting to keep himself
and his crew in provisions for a week Felipe would
anchor the navy and hang about the little telegraph
office, looking like one of the chorus of an insolvent
comic opera troupe besieging the manager's den.
A hope for orders from the capital was always in his
heart. That his services as admiral had never been
called into requirement hurt his pride and patriotism.
At every call he would inquire, gravely and expect-
antly, for despatches. The operator would pretend
to make a search, and then reply:
"Not yet, it seems, Senor el Almirante — poco
tiempo!"
Outside in the shade of the lime-trees the crew
chewed sugar cane or slumbered, well content to
serve a country that was contented with so little
service.
One day in the early summer the revolution pre-
dicted by the collector flamed out suddenly. It had
long been smouldering. At the first note of alarm the 158 Cabbages and Kings
admiral of the navy force and fleet made all sail for
a larger port on the coast of a neighbouring republic,
where he traded a hastily collected cargo of fruit for
its value in cartridges for the five Martini rifles, the
only guns that the navy could boast. Then to the
telegraph office sped the admiral. Sprawling in
his favourite corner, in his fast-decaying uniform,
with his prodigious sabre distributed between his red
legs, he waited for the long-delayed, but now soon
expected, orders.
"Not yet, Senor el Almirante" the telegraph clerk
would call to him — " poco tiempo!99
At the answer the admiral would plump himself
down with a great rattling of scabbard to await the
infrequent tick of the little instrument on the table.
"They will come," would be his unshaken reply;
"I am the admiral."
CHAPTER NINE
The Flag Paramount
.At the head of the insurgent party appeared that
Hector and learned Theban of the southern re-
publics, Don Sabas Placido. A traveller, a soldier,
a poet, a scientist, a statesman and a connoisseur —
the wonder was that he could content himself with
the petty, remote life of his native country.
"It is a whim of Placido's," said a friend who
knew him well, "to take up political intrigue. It is
not otherwise than as if he had come upon a new
tempo in music, a new bacillus in the air, a new scent,
or rhyme, or explosive. He will squeeze this revolu-
tion dry of sensations, and a week afterward will
forget it, skimming the seas of the world in his
brigantine to add to his already world-famous col-
160 Cabbages and K
lections. Collections of what? for Vtos i of every-
thing from postage stamps to prehistoric stone
idols."
But, for a mere dilettante, the aesthetic Placido
seemed to be creating a lively row. The people
admired him; they were fascinated by his brilliancy
and flattered by his taking an interest in so small a
thing as his native country. They rallied to the call
of his lieutenants in the capital, where (somewhat
contrary to arrangements) the army remained faith-
ful to the government. There was also lively skir-
mishing in the coast towns. It was rumoured that
the revolution was aided by the Vesuvius Fruit Com-
pany, the power that forever stood with chiding smile
and uplifted finger to keep Anchuria in the class of
good children. Two of its steamers, the Traveler
and the Salvador, were known to have conveyed in-
surgent troops from point to point along the coast.
As yet there had been no actual uprising in Co-
ralio. Military law prevailed, and the ferment was
bottled for the time. And then came the word that
everywhere the revolutionists were encountering de-
feat. In the capital the president's forces triumphed; '< The Flag Paramount 161
and there was a rumour that the leaders of the revolt
had been forced to fly, hotly pursued.
In the little telegraph office at Coralio there was
always a gathering of officials and loyal citizens,
awaiting news from the seat of government. One
morning the telegraph key began clicking, and pres-
ently the operator called, loudly: "One telegram for
el Almirante, Don Senor Felipe Carrera!" There was a shuffling sound, a great rattling of tin
scabbard, and the admiral, prompt at his spot of
waiting, leaped across the room to receive it.
The message was handed to him. Slowly spelling
it out, he found it to be his first official order — thus
running:
"Proceed immediately with your vessel to mouth
of Rio Ruiz; transport beef and provisions to bar-
racks at Alforan. Martinez, General."
Small glory, to be sure, in this, his country's first
call. But it had called, and joy surged in the ad-
miral's breast. He drew his cutlass belt to another
buckle hole, roused his dozing crew, and in a quarter
of an hour El National was tacking swiftly down
coast in a stiff landward breeze.
162 Cabbages and Kings
The Rio Ruiz is a small river, emptying into the
sea ten miles below Coralio. That portion of the
coast is wild and solitary. Through a gorge in the
Cordilleras rushes the Rio Ruiz, cold and bubbling,
to glide, at last, with breadth and leisure, through
an alluvial morass into the sea.
In two hours El National entered the river's
mouth. The banks were crowded with a disposition
of formidable trees. The sumptuous undergrowth
of the tropics overflowed the land, and drowned itself
in the fallow waters. Silently the sloop entered
there, and met a deeper silence. Brilliant with
greens and ochres and floral scarlets, the umbrageous
mouth of the Rio Ruiz furnished no sound or move-
ment save of the sea-going water as it purled against
the prow of the vessel. Small chance there seemed
of wresting beef or provisions from that empty soli-
tude.
The admiral decided to cast anchor, and, at the
chain's rattle, the forest was stimulated to instant
and resounding uproar. The mouth of the Rio
Ruiz had only been taking a morning nap. Parrots
and baboons screeched and barked in the trees; a The Flag Paramount 163
whirring and a hissing and a booming marked the
awakening of animal life; a dark blue bulk was
visible for an instant, as a startled tapir fought his
way through the vines.
The navy, under orders, hung in the mouth of the
little river for hours. The crew served the dinner of
shark's fin soup, plantains, crab gumbo and sour
wine. The admiral, with a three-foot telescope,
closely scanned the impervious foliage fifty yards
away.
It was nearly sunset when a reverberating "hallo-
o-o!" came from the forest to their left. It was an-
swered; and three men, mounted upon mules, crashed
through the tropic tangle to within a dozen yards of
the river's bank. There they dismounted; and one,
unbuckling his belt, struck each mule a violent blow
with his sword scabbard, so that they, with a fling
of heels, dashed back again into the forest.
Those were strange-looking men to be conveying
beef and provisions. One was a large and exceed-
ingly active man, of striking presence. He was of
the purest Spanish type, with curling, gray-besprin-
kled, dark hair, blue, sparkling eyes, and the pro-
164 Cabbages and Kings
nounced air of a caballero grande. The other two
were small, brown-faced men, wearing white mili-
tary uniforms, high riding boots and swords. The
clothes of all were drenched, bespattered and rent
by the thicket. Some stress of circumstance must
have driven them, diable (t quatre, through flood,
mire and jungle.
"O-hef Sefior Almirante" called the large man.
"Send to us your boat."
The dory was lowered, and Felipe, with one of the
Caribs, rowed toward the left bank.
The large man stood near the water's brink, waist
deep in the curling vines. As he gazed upon the
scarecrow figure in the stern of the dory a sprightly
interest beamed upon his mobile face.
Months of wageless and thankless service had
dimmed the admiral's splendour. His red trousers
were patched and ragged. Most of the bright but-
tons and yellow braid were gone from his jacket.
The visor of his cap was torn, and depended almost
to his eyes. The admiral's feet were bare.
"Dear admiral," cried the large man, and his
voice was like a blast from a horn, "I kiss your hands. The Flag Paramount 165
I knew we could build upon your fidelity. You had
our despatch — from General Martinez. A little
nearer with your boat, dear Admiral. Upon these
devils of shifting vines we stand with the smallest
security."
Felipe regarded him with a stolid face."Provisions and beef for the barracks at Alforan,"
he quoted.
"No fault of the butchers, Almirante mio, that
the beef awaits you not. But you are come in time
to save the cattle. Get us aboard your vessel, senor,
at once. You first, caballeros — a priesa I Come
back for me. The boat is too small."
The dory conveyed the two officers to the sloop,
and returned for the large man.
"Have you so gross a thing as food, good admi-
ral ?99 he cried, when aboard. "And, perhaps, coffee?
Beef and provisions! Nombre de Dim ! a little longer
and we could have eaten one of those mules that you,
Colonel Rafael, saluted so feelingly with your sword
scabbard at parting. Let us have food; and then we
will sail — for the barracks at Alforan — no?"
The Caribs prepared a meal, to which the three 166 Cabbages and Kings
passengers of El National set themselves with fam-
ished delight. About sunset, as was its custom, the
breeze veered and swept back from the mountains,
cool and steady, bringing a taste of the stagnant
lagoons and mangrove swamps that guttered the low-
lands. The mainsail of the sloop was hoisted and
swelled to it, and at that moment they heard shouts
and a waxing clamour from the bosky profundities
of the shore.
"The butchers, my dear admiral," said the large
man, smiling, "too late for the slaughter."
Further than his orders to his crew, the admiral
was saying nothing. The topsail and jib were
spread, and the sloop glided out of the estuary. The
large man and his companions had bestowed them-
selves with what comfort they could about the bare
deck. Belike, the thing big in their minds had been
their departure from that critical shore; and now that
the hazard was so far reduced their thoughts were
loosed to the consideration of further deliverance. But
when they saw the sloop turn and fly up coast again
they relaxed, satisfied with the course the admiral
had taken.
The Flag Paramount 167
The large man sat at ease, his spirited blue eye en-
gaged in the contemplation of the navy's commander.
He was trying to estimate this sombre and fantastic
lad, whose impenetrable stolidity puzzled him. Him-
self a fugitive, his life sought, and chafing under the
smart of defeat and failure, it was characteristic of
him to transfer instantly his interest to the study of a
thing new to him. It was like him, too, to have con-
ceived and risked all upon this last desperate and mad-
cap scheme — this message to a poor, crazed fanatico
cruising about with his grotesque uniform and his far-
cical title. But his companions had been at their
wits' end; escape had seemed incredible; and now
he was pleased with the success of the plan they had
called crack-brained and precarious.
The brief, tropic twilight seemed to slide swiftly
into the pearly splendour of a moonlit night. And
now the lights of Coralio appeared, distributed against
the darkening shore to their right. The admiral
stood, silent, at the tiller; the Caribs, like black pan-
thers, held the sheets, leaping noiselessly at his short
commands. The three passengers were watching
intently the sea before them, and when at length they 168 Cabbages and Kings
came in sight of the bulk of a steamer lying a mile out
from the town, with her lights radiating deep into the
water, they held a sudden voluble and close-headed
converse. The sloop was speeding as if to strike mid-
way between ship and shore.
The large man suddenly separated from his com-
panions and approached the scarecrow at the helm.
"My dear admiral," he said "the government has
been exceedingly remiss. I feel all the shame for it
that only its ignorance of your devoted service has
prevented it from sustaining. An inexcusable over-
sight has been made. A vessel, a uniform and a crew
worthy of your fidelity shall be furnished you. But
just now, dear admiral, there is business of moment
afoot. The steamer lying there is the Salvador. I
and my friends desire to be conveyed to her, where
we are sent on the government's business. Do us
the favour to shape your course accordingly."
Without replying, the admiral gave a sharp com-
mand, and put the tiller hard to port. El National
swerved, and headed straight as an arrow's course
for the shore.
"Do me the favour," said the large man, a trifle res-
The Flag Paramount 169
tively, "to acknowledge, at least, that you catch the
sound of my words." It was possible that the fellow
might be lacking in senses as well as intellect.
The admiral emitted a croaking, harsh laugh, and
spake.
"They will stand you," he said, "with your face to *
a wall and shoot you dead. That is the way they
kill traitors. I knew you when you stepped into my
boat. I have seen your picture in a book. You
are Sabas Placido, traitor to your country. With
your face to a wall. So, you will die. I am the
admiral, and I will take you to them. With your
face to a wall. Yes."
Don Sabas half turned and waved his hand, with a
ringing laugh, toward his fellow fugitives. "To you,
caballeros, I have related the history of that session
when we issued that O! so ridiculous commission.
Of a truth our jest has been turned against us.
Behold the Frankenstein's monster we have
created!"
Don Sabas glanced toward the shore. The lights
of Coralio were drawing near. He could see the
beach, the warehouse of the Bodega National, the
170 Cabbages and Kings
long, low cuartel occupied by the soldiers, and, behind
that, gleaming in the moonlight, a stretch of high
adobe wall. He had seen men stood with their faces
to that wall and shot dead.
Again he addressed the extravagant figure at the
helm.
"It is true," he said, "that I am fleeing the coun-
try. But, receive the assurance that I care very little
for that. Courts and camps everywhere are open to
Sabas Placido. Vaya! what is this molehill of a re-
public — this pig's head of a country — to a man like
me? I am a paisano of everywhere. In Rome, in
London, in Paris, in Vienna, you will hear them say:
'Welcome back, Don Sabas.' Come! — tonto —
baboon of a boy — admiral, whatever you call your-
self, turn your boat. Put us on board the Salvador,
and here is your pay — five hundred pesos in money
of the Estados Unidos — more than your lying
government will pay you in twenty years."
Don Sabas pressed a plump purse against the
youth's hand. The admiral gave no heed to the
words or the movement. Braced against the helm,
he was holding the sloop dead on her shoreward The Flag Paramount 171
course. His dull face was lit almost to intelligence by
some inward conceit that seemed to afford him
joy, and found utterance in another parrot-like
cackle.
"That is why they do it," he said —" so that you
will not see the guns. They fire — boom! — and
you fall dead. With your face to the wall. Yes."
The admiral called a sudden order to his crew.
The lithe, silent Caribs made fast the sheets they
held, and slipped down the hatchway into the hold
of the sloop. When the last one had disappeared,
Don Sabas, like a big, brown leopard, leaped for-
ward, closed and fastened the hatch and stood,
smiling.
"No rifles, if you please, dear admiral," he said.
"It was a whimsey of mine once to compile a dic-
tionary of the Carib lengua. So, I understood your
order. Perhaps now you will —yy
He cut short his words, for he heard the dull
"swish" of iron scraping along tin. The admiral
had drawn the cutlass of Pedro Lafitte, and was dart-
ing upon him. The blade descended, and it was only
by a display of surprising agility that the large man 172 Cabbages and Kings
escaped, with only a bruised shoulder, the glancing
weapon. He was drawing his pistol as he sprang,
and the next instant he shot the admiral down.
Don Sabas stooped over him, and rose again.
"In the heart," he said briefly. "Senores, the
navy is abolished."
Colonel Rafael sprang to the helm, and the other
officer hastened to loose the mainsail sheets. The
boom swung round; El National veered and began
to tack industriously for the Salvador.
"Strike that flag, senor," called Colonel Rafael.
"Our friends on the steamer will wonder why we are
sailing under it."
"Well said," cried Don Sabas. Advancing to the
mast he lowered the flag to the deck, where lay its too
loyal supporter. Thus ended the Minister of War's
little piece of after-dinner drollery, and by the same
hand that began it.
Suddenly Don Sabas gave a great cry of joy, and
ran down the slanting deck to the side of Colonel Ra-
fael. Across his arm he carried the flag of the extin-
guished navy.
"Mire ! mire ! senor. Ah, Dios I Already can I hear The Flag Paramount ITS
that great bear of an Oestreicher shout, (Du hast mein
herz gebrochen!' Mire! Of my friend, Herr Grunitz,
of Vienna, you have heard me relate. That man
has travelled to Ceylon for an orchid — to Patagonia
for a headdress — to Benares for a slipper — to Mozambique for a spearhead to add to his famous collec-
tions. Thou knowest, also, amigo Rafael, that I have
been a gatherer of curios. My collection of battle
flags of the world's navies was the most complete in
existence until last year. Then Herr Grunitz secured
two, O! such rare specimens. One of a Barbary
state, and one of the Makarooroos, a tribe on the west
coast of Africa. I have not those, but they can be
procured. But this flag, senor — do you know what
it is? Name of God! do you know? See that red
cross upon the blue and white ground! You never saw
it before? Seguramente no. It is the naval flag of
your country. Mire! This rotten tub we stand upon
is its navy — that dead cockatoo lying there was its
commander — that stroke of cutlass and single pistol
shot a sea battle. All a piece of absurd foolery, I
grant you — but authentic. There has never been
another flag like this, and there never will be another. 174 Cabbages and Kings
No. It is unique in the whole world. Yes. Think
of what that means to a collector of flags! Do you
know, Coronel mio, how many golden crowns Herr
Grunitz would give for this flag? Ten thousand,
likely. Well, a hundred thousand would not buy it.
Beautiful flag! Only flag! Little devil of a most
heaven-born flag! O-he! old grumbler beyond the
ocean. Wait till Don Sabas comes again to the
Konigin Strasse. He will let you kneel and touch the
folds of it with one finger. O-he! old spectacled ran-
sacker of the world!"
Forgotten was the impotent revolution, the danger,
the loss, the gall of defeat. Possessed solely by the
inordinate and unparalleled passion of the collector,
he strode up and down the little deck, clasping to his
breast with one hand the paragon of a flag. He snap-
ped his fingers triumphantly toward the east. He
shouted the paean to his prize in trumpet tones, as
though he would make old Grunitz hear in his musty
den beyond the sea.
They were waiting, on the Salvador, to welcome
them. The sloop came close alongside the steamer
where her sides were sliced almost to the lower deck The Flag Paramount 175
for the loading of fruit. The sailors of the Salvador
grappled and held her there.
Captain McLeod leaned over the side.
<e Well, senor, the jig is up, I'm told."
"The jig is up?" Don Sabas looked perplexed for
a moment. "That revolution — ah, yes!" With a
shrug of his shoulders he dismissed the matter.
The captain learned of the escape and the im-
prisoned crew.
"Caribs?" he said; "no harm in them." He
slipped down into the sloop and kicked loose the
hasp of the hatch. The black fellows came tum-
bling up, sweating but grinning.
"Hey! black boys!" said the captain, in a dialect
of his own; "you sabe, catchy boat and vamos back
same place quick."
They saw him point to themselves, the sloop and
Coralio."Yas, yas!" they cried, with broader grins
and many nods.
The four — Don Sabas, the two officers and the
captain — moved to quit the sloop. Don Sabas lagged
a little behind, looking at the still form of the late
admiral, sprawled in his paltry trappings.
176 Cabbages and Kings
"Pobrecito loco," he said softly.
He was a brilliant cosmopolite and a cognoscente of
high rank; but, after all, he was of the same race and
blood and instinct as this people. Even as the simple
paisanos of Coralio had said it, so said Don Sabas.
Without a smile, he looked, and said, "The poor little
crazed one!"
Stooping he raised the limp shoulders, drew the
priceless and induplicable flag under them and over
the breast, pinning it there with the diamond star of
the Order of San Carlos that he took from the collar
of his own coat.
He followed after the others, and stood with them
upon the deck of the Salvador. The sailors that
steadied El Nacional shoved her off. The jabbering
Caribs hauled away at the rigging; the sloop headed
for the shore.
And Herr Grunitz's collection of naval flags was
still the finest in the world.
CHAPTER TEN
The Shamrock and the Palm
One night when there was no breeze, and Coralio seemed closer than ever to the gratings of
Avernus, five men were grouped about the door of
the photograph establishment of Keogh and Clancy.
Thus, in all the scorched and exotic places of the
earth, Caucasians meet when the day's work is done
to preserve the fulness of their heritage by the asper-
sion of alien things.
Johnny Atwood lay stretched upon the grass in the
undress uniform of a Carib, and prated feebly of cool
water to be had in the cucumber-wood pumps of
Dalesburg. Dr. Gregg, through the prestige of his
whiskers and as a bribe against the relation of his im-
minent professional tales, was conceded the hammock 178 Cabbages and Kings
that was swung between the door jamb and a cala-
bash-tree. Keogh had moved out upon the grass a
little table that held the instrument for burnishing
completed photographs. He was the only busy one
of the group. Industriously from between the cylin-
ders of the burnisher rolled the finished depictments
of Coralio's citizens. Blanchard, the French mining
engineer, in his cool linen viewed the smoke of his cig-
arette through his calm glasses, impervious to the
heat. Clancy sat on the steps, smoking his short pipe.
His mood was the gossip's; the others were reduced,
by the humidity, to the state of disability desirable in
an audience.
Clancy was an American with an Irish diathesis
and cosmopolitan proclivities. Many businesses had
claimed him, but not for long. The roadster's blood
was in his veins. The voice of the tintype was but
one of the many callings that had wooed him upon so
many roads. Sometimes he could be persuaded to
oral construction of his voyages into the informal and
egregious. To-night there were symptoms of divulge-
ment in him.
"'Tis elegant weather for filibusterin'," he vol-
The Shamrock and the Palm 179
unteered. "It reminds me of the time I struggled to
liberate a nation from the poisonous breath of a ty-
rant's clutch. 'Twas hard work, "lis strainin' to
the back and makes corns on the hands."
"I didn't know you had ever lent your sword to an
oppressed people," murmured Atwood, from the
grass.
"I did," said Clancy; "and they turned it into a
ploughshare."
"What country was so fortunate as to secure your
aid?" airily inquired Blanchard.
"Where's Kamchatka?" asked Clancy, with
seeming irrelevance.
"Why, off Siberia somewhere in the Arctic re-
gions," somebody answered, doubtfully.
"I thought that was the cold one," said Clancy,
with a satisfied nod. "I'm always gettin' the two
names mixed. 'Twas Guatemala, then — the hot
one — I've been filibusterin' with. Ye'll find that
country on the map. 'Tis in the district known as
the tropics. By the foresight of Providence, it lies on
the coast so the geography man could run the names
of the towns off into the water. They're an inch long, 180 Cabbages and Kings
1 small type, composed of Spanish dialects, and, 'tis my
opinion, of the same system of syntax that blew up the
Maine. Yes, 'twas that country I sailed against, sin-
gle-handed, and endeavoured to liberate it from a
tyrannical government with a single-barreled pickaxe,
unloaded at that. Ye don't understand, of course.
'Tis a statement demandin' elucidation and apolo-
gies.
"'Twas in New Orleans one morning about the
first of June; I was standin' down on the wharf,
lookin' about at the ships in the river. There was a
little steamer moored right opposite me that seemed
about ready to sail. The funnels of it were throwin'
out smoke, and a gang of roustabouts were carryin'
aboard a pile of boxes that was stacked up on the
wharf. The boxes were about two feet square, and
somethin' like four feet long, and they seemed to be
pretty heavy.
"I walked over, careless, to the stack of boxes. I
saw one of them had been broken in handlin'. 'Twas
curiosity made me pull up the loose top and look in-
side. The box was packed full of Winchester rifles.
'So, so,' says I to myself; 'somebody's gettin' a twist The Shamrock and the Palm 181
on the neutrality laws. Somebody's aidin' with mu-
nitions of war. I wonder where the popguns are
goin'?'
"I heard somebody cough, and I turned around.
There stood a little, round, fat man with a brown face
and white clothes, a first-class-looking little man, with
a four-karat diamond on his finger and his eye full of
interrogations and respects. I judged he was a kind
of foreigner — may be from Russia or Japan or the
archipelagoes.
"6 Hist!' says the round man, full of concealments
and confidences. 'Will the senor respect the discov-
eryments he has made, that the mans on the ship
shall not be acquaint? The senor will be a gentle-
man that shall not expose one thing that by accident
occur.'
"6 Monseer,' says I — for I judged him to be a kind
of Frenchman—' receive my most exasperated assur-
ances that your secret is safe with James Clancy. Fur-
thermore, I will go so far as to remark, Veev la Lib-
erty — veev it good and strong. Whenever you hear
of a Clancy obstructin' the abolishment of existin' governments you may notify me by return mail.'
182 Cabbages and Kings
"'The senor is good,' says the dark, fat man,
smilin' under his black mustache. 'Wish you to
come aboard my ship and drink of wine a glass.'
"Bein' a Clancy, in two minutes me and the for-
eigner man were seated at a table in the cabin of the
steamer, with a bottle between us. I could hear the
heavy boxes bein' dumped into the hold. I judged
that cargo must consist of at least 2,000 Winchesters.
Me and the brown man drank the bottle of stuff, and
he called the steward to bring another. When you
amalgamate a Clancy with the contents of a bottle you
practically instigate secession. I had heard a good
deal about these revolutions in them tropical localities,
and I begun to want a hand in it.
"4 You goin' to stir things up in your country, ain't
you, monseer?' says I, with a wink to let him know
I was on.
"' Yes, yes,' said the little man, pounding his fist on
the table. 'A change of the greatest will occur. Too
long have the people been oppressed with the promises
and the never-to-happen things to become. The great
work it shall be carry on. Yes. Our forces shall in
the capital city strike of the soonest. Carrambos!'
The Shamrock and the Palm 183
"* Carrambos is the word,' says I, beginning to in-
vest myself with enthusiasm and more wine, * likewise
veeva, as I said before. May the shamrock of old —
I mean the banana-vine or the pie-plant, or whatever
the imperial emblem may be of your down-trodden
country, wave forever.'
"'A thousand thank-yous,' says the round man,
'for your emission of amicable utterances. What
our cause needs of the very most is mans who will the
work do, to lift it along. Oh, for one thousands
strong, good mans to aid the General De Vega that he
shall to his country bring those success and glory! It
is hard — oh, so hard to find good mans to help in
the work.'
"'Monseer,' says I, leanin' over the table and
graspin' his hand,61 don't know where your country
is, but me heart bleeds for it. The heart of a Clancy
was never deaf to the sight of an oppressed people.
The family is filibusterers by birth, and foreigners by
trade. If you can use James Clancy's arms and his
blood in denudin' your shores of the tyrant's yoke
they're yours to command.'
"General De Vega was overcome with joy to con-
184 Cabbages and Kings
fiscate my condolence of his conspiracies and predica-
ments. He tried to embrace me across the table,
but his fatness, and the wine that had been in the bot-
tles, prevented. Thus was I welcomed into the ranks
of filibustery. Then the general man told me his
country had the name of Guatemala, and was the
greatest nation laved by any ocean whatever any-
where. He looked at me with tears in his eyes, and
from time to time he would emit the remark,' Ah! big,
strong, brave mans! That is what my country need.'
"General De Vega, as was the name by which he
denounced himself, brought out a document for me to
sign, which I did, makin' a fine flourish and curlycue
with the tail of the 6 y
"'Your passage-money/ says the general, busi-
nesslike, 'shall from your pay be deduct.'
"' Twill not,' says I, haughty. 'I'll pay my own
passage.' A hundred and eighty dollars I had in my
inside pocket, and 'twas no common filibuster I was
goin' to be, filibusterin' for me board and clothes
"The steamer was to sail in two hours, and I went
ashore to get some things together I'd need. When I
came aboard I showed the general with pride the The Shamrock and the Palm 185
outfit. 'Twas a fine Chinchilla overcoat, Arctic over-
shoes, fur cap and earmuffs, with elegant fleece-lined
gloves and woolen muffler.
"* Carramhos I' says the little general. 'What
clothes are these that shall go to the tropic?' And then
the little spalpeen laughs, and he calls the captain, and
the captain calls the purser, and they pipe up the chief
engineer, and the whole gang leans against the cabin
and laughs at Clancy's wardrobe for Guatemala.
"I reflects a bit, serious, and asks the general again
to denominate the terms by which his country is
called. He tells me, and I see then that 'twas the
t'other one, Kamchatka, I had in mind. Since then
I've had difficulty in separatin' the two nations in
name, climate and geographic disposition.
"I paid my passage — twenty-four dollars, first
cabin — and ate at table with the officer crowd.
Down on the lower deck was a gang of second-class
passengers, about forty of them, seemin' to be Da-
goes and the like. I wondered what so many of
them were goin' along for.
"Well, then, in three days we sailed alongside that
Guatemala. 'Twas a blue country, and not yellow,
186 Cabbages and Kings
as 'tis miscolored on the map. We landed at a town
on the coast, where a train of cars was waitin' for us
on a dinky little railroad. The boxes on the steamer
were brought ashore and loaded on the cars. The
gang of Dagoes got aboard, too, the general and me in
the front car. Yes, me and General De Vega headed
the revolution, as it pulled out of the seaport town.
That train travelled about as fast as a policeman
goin' to a riot. It penetrated the most conspicuous
lot of fuzzy scenery ever seen outside a geography.
We run some forty miles in seven hours, and the
train stopped. There was no more railroad. 'Twas
a sort of camp in a damp gorge full of wildness and
melancholies. They was gradin' and choppin' out
the forests ahead to continue the road. 'Here,' says
I to myself, 'is the romantic haunt of the revolution-
ists. Here will Clancy, by the virtue that is in a
superior race and the inculcation of Fenian tactics,
strike a tremendous blow for liberty.'
"They unloaded the boxes from the train and be-
gun to knock the tops off. From the first one that
was open I saw General De Vega take the Winchester
rifles and pass them around to a squad of morbid sol-
The Shamrock and the Palm 187
diery. The other boxes was opened next, and, be-
lieve me or not, divil another gun was to be seen.
Every other box in the load was full of pickaxes and
spades.
"And then — sorrow be upon them tropics — the
proud Clancy and the dishonoured Dagoes, each one
of them, had to shoulder a pick or a spade, and march
away to work on that dirty little railroad. Yes; 'twas
that the Dagoes shipped for, and 'twas that the filibusterin' Clancy signed for, though unbeknownst to
himself at the time. In after days I found out about
it. It seems 'twas hard to get hands to work on that
road. The intelligent natives of the country was too
lazy to work. Indeed, the saints know, 'twas unnec-
essary. By stretchin' out one hand, they could seize
the most delicate and costly fruits of the earth, and,
by stretchin' out the other, they could sleep for days
at a time without hearin' a seven-o'clock whistle or
the footsteps of the rent man upon the stairs. So,
regular, the steamers travelled to the United States to
seduce labour. Usually the imported spade-slingers
died in two or three months from eatin' the over-ripe
water and breathin' the violent tropical scenery. 188 Cabbages and Kings
Wherefore they made them sign contracts for a year,
when they hired them, and put an armed guard
over the poor divils to keep them from runnin' away.
"'Twas thus I was double-crossed by the tropics
through a family failin' of goin' out of the way to hunt
disturbances.
"They gave me a pick, and I took it, meditatin' an
insurrection on the spot; but there was the guards
handlin' the Winchesters careless, and I come to the
conclusion that discretion was the best part of filibus-terin'. There was about a hundred of us in the gang
startin' out to work, and the word was given to move.
I steps out of the ranks and goes up to that General
De Vega man, who was smokin' a cigar and gazin'
upon the scene with satisfactions and glory. He
smiles at me polite and devilish. 'Plenty work,' says
he, for big, strong mans in Guatemala. Yes. T'irty
dollars in the month. Good pay. Ah, yes. You
strong, brave man. Bimeby we push those railroad
in the capital very quick. They want you go work
now. Adios, strong mans.'
"*Monseer,' says I, lingerin\ 'will you tell a poor
little Irishman this: When I set foot on your cock-
The Shamrock and the Palm 189
roachy steamer, and breathed liberal and revolution-
ary sentiments into your sour wine, did you think I
was conspirin' to sling a pick on your contemptuous
little railroad? And when you answered me with pat-
riotic recitations, humping up the star-spangled
cause of liberty, did you have meditations of reducin'
me to the ranks of the stump-grubbin' Dagoes
in the chain-gangs of your vile and grovelin'
country?'
"The general man expanded his rotundity and
laughed considerable. Yes, he laughed very long
and loud, and I, Clancy, stood and waited.
"'Comical mans!' he shouts, at last. 'So you
will kill me from the laughing. Yes; it is hard to
find the brave, strong mans to aid my country. Rev-
olutions? Did I speak of r-r-revolutions? Not one
word. I say, big, strong mans is need in Guatemala.
So. The mistake is of you. You have looked in those
one box containing those gun for the guard. You
think all boxes is contain gun? No.
"'There is not war in Guatemala. But work?
Yes. Good. T'irty dollar in the month. You shall
shoulder one pickaxe, senor, and dig for the liberty 190 Cabbages and Kings
and prosperity of Guatemala. Off to your work.
The guard waits for you.'
Little, fat, poodle dog of a brown man,' says I,
quiet, but full of indignations and discomforts, 'things
shall happen to you. Maybe not right away, but as
soon as J. Clancy can formulate somethin' in the way
of repartee.'
"The boss of the gang orders us to work. I tramps
off with the Dagoes, and I hears the distinguished
patriot and kidnapper laughin' hearty as we go.
"'Tis a sorrowful fact, for eight weeks I built rail-
roads for that misbehavin' country. I filibustered
twelve hours a day with a heavy pick and a spade,
choppin' away the luxurious landscape that grew up-
on the right of way. We worked in swamps that
smelled like there was a leak in the gas mains, tramp-
in' down a fine assortment of the most expensive hot-
house plants and vegetables. The scene was tropi-
cal beyond the wildest imagination of the geography
man. The trees was all sky-scrapers; the under-
brush was full of needles and pins; there was mon-
keys jumpin' around and crocodiles and pink-tailed
mockin'-birds, and ye stood knee-deep in the rotten The Shamrock and the Palm 191
water and grabbled roots for the liberation of Guate-
mala. Of nights we would build smudges in camp
to discourage the mosquitoes, and sit in the smoke,
with the guards pacin' all around us. There was two
hundred men workin' on the road — mostly Dagoes,
nigger-men, Spanish-men and Swedes. Three or
four were Irish.
"One old man named Halloran — a man of Hiber-
nian entitlements and discretions, explained it to me.
He had been workin' on the road a year. Most of
them died in less than six months. He was dried up
to gristle and bone, and shook with chills every third
night.
"'When you first come,' says he, 'ye think ye'll
leave right away. But they hold out your first
month's pay for your passage over, and by that time
the tropics has its grip on ye. Ye're surrounded
by a ragin' forest full of disreputable beasts — lions and baboons and anacondas — waitin' to devour ye.
The sun strikes ye hard, and melts the marrow in
your bones. Ye get similar to the lettuce-eaters the
poetry-book speaks about. Ye forget the elevated
sintiments of life, such as patriotism, revenge, dis-
i92 Cabbages and Kings
turbances of the peace and the dacint love of a clane
shirt. Ye do your work, and ye swallow the kerosene
ile and rubber pipestems dished up to ye by the Dago
cook for food. Ye light your pipeful, and say to
yoursilf, "Nixt week I'll break away," and ye go to
sleep and call yersilf a liar, for ye know ye'll never
do it.'
"' Who is this general man,' asks I,(that calls him-
self De Vega?'
(<' 'Tis the man,' says Halloran, 'who is tryin' to
complete the finishin' of the railroad. 'Twas the proj-
ect of a private corporation, but it busted, and then
the government took it up. De Vegy is a big poli-
tician, and wants to be prisident. The people want
the railroad completed, as they're taxed mighty on
account of it. The De Vegy man is pushin' it along
as a campaign move.'
"' 'Tis not my way,' says I, 'to make threats
against any man, but there's an account to be settled
between the railroad man and James O'Dowd
Clancy.'
"' 'Twas that way I thought, mesilf, at first,' Hal-
loran says, with a big sigh, 'until I got to be a lettuce-
The Shamrock and the Palm 193
eater. The fault's wid these tropics. They rejuices
a man's system. 'Tis a land, as the poet says, "Where
it always seems to be after dinner." I does me work
and smokes me pipe and sleeps. There's little else in
life, anyway. Ye'll get that way yersilf, mighty soon.
Don't be harbourin' any sintiments at all, Clancy.'
"'I can't help it,' says I; 'I'm full of 'em. I en-
listed in the revolutionary army of this dark country
in good faith to fight for its liberty, honours and silver
candlesticks; instead of which I am set to amputatin'
its scenery and grubbin' its roots. 'Tis the general
man will have to pay for it.'
"Two months I worked on that railroad before I
found a chance to get away. One day a gang of us
was sent back to the end of the completed line to fetch
some picks that had been sent down to Port Barrios
to be sharpened. They were brought on a hand-car,
and I noticed, when I started away, that the car was
left there on the track.
"That night, about twelve, I woke up Halloran
and told him my scheme.
"'Run away?' says Halloran. 'Good Lord,
Clancy, do ye mean it? Why, I ain't got the nerve. 194 Cabbages and Kings
It's too chilly, and I ain't slept enough. Run away?
I told you, Clancy, I've eat the lettuce. I've lost my
grip. 'Tis the tropics that's done it. 'Tis like the
poet says: "Forgotten are our friends that we have
left behind; in the hollow lettuce-land we will live
and lay reclined." You better go on, Clancy. I'll
stay, I guess. It's too early and cold, and I'm sleepy.'
"So I had to leave Halloran. I dressed quiet, and
slipped out of the tent we were in. When the guard
came along I knocked him over, like a ninepin, with
a green cocoanut I had, and made for the railroad. I
got on that hand-car and made it fly. 'Twas yet a
while before daybreak when I saw the lights of Port
Barrios about a mile away. I stopped the hand-car
there and walked to the town. I stepped inside the
corporations of that town with care and hesitations. I
was not afraid of the army of Guatemala, but me soul
quaked at the prospect of a hand-to-hand struggle
with its employment bureau. 'Tis a country that
hires its help easy and keeps 'em long. Sure I can
fancy Missis America and Missis Guatemala passin'
a bit of gossip some fine, still night across the moun-
tains. 'Oh, dear,' says Missis America, 'and it's a The Shamrock and the Palm 195
lot of trouble I'm havin' ag'in with the help, senora,
ma'am.' 'Laws, now!' says Missis Guatemala, 'you
dont' say so, ma'am! Now, mine never think of leav-
in' me — te-he! ma'am,' snickers Missis Guatemala.
"I was wonderin' how I was goin' to move away
from them tropics without bein' hired again. Dark
as it was, I could see a steamer ridin' in the
harbour, with smoke emergin' from her stacks. I
turned down a little grass street that run down to
the water. On the beach I found a little brown
nigger-man just about to shove off in a skiff.
"' Hold on, Sambo,' says I,'sawe English?'
"* Heap plenty, yes,' says he, with a pleasant grin.
"' What steamer is that?' I asks him, 'and where
is it going? And what's the news, and the good word
and the time of day?'
"'That steamer the Conchita,' said the brown
man, affable and easy, rollin' a cigarette. 'Him
come from New Orleans for load banana. Him got
load last night. I think him sail in one, two hour.
Verree nice day we shall be goin' have. You hear
some talkee 'bout big battle, maybe so? You think
catchee General De Vega, senor? Yes? No?'
196 Cabbages and Kings
U(How's that, Sambo?' says I. 'Big battle?
What battle? Who wants catchee General De Vega?
I've been up at my gold mines in the interior for a
couple of months, and haven't heard any news.'
"'Oh,' says the nigger-man, proud to speak the
English, 'verree great revolution in Guatemala one
week ago. General De Vega, him try be president.
Him raise armee — one — five — ten thousand mans
for fight at the government. Those one govern-
ment send five — forty — hundred thousand soldier
to suppress revolution. They fight big battle yester-
day at Lomagrande — that about nineteen or fifty
mile in the mountain. That government soldier
wheep General De Vega — oh, most bad. Five hun-
dred — nine hundred — two thousand of his mans is
kill. That revolution is smash suppress — bust —
very quick. General De Vega, him r-r-run away
fast on one big mule. Yes, carrambos! The general,
him r-r-run away, and his armee is kill. That gov-
ernment soldier, they try find General De Vega verree
much. They want catchee him for shoot. You
think they catchee that general, senor?'
"' Saints grant it!' says I. ''Twould be the judg-
The Shamrock and the Palm 197
ment of Providence for settin' the warlike talent of a
Clancy to gradin' the tropics with a pick and shovel.
But 'tis not so much a question of insurrections now,
me little man, as 'tis of the hired-man problem. 'Tis
anxious I am to resign a situation of responsibility
and trust with the white wings department of your
great and degraded country. Row me in your little
boat out to that steamer, and I'll give ye five dollars
— sinker pacers — sinker pacers,' says I, reducin'
the offer to the language and denomination of the
tropic dialects.
"* Cinco pesos,' repeats the little man. 'Five dol-
lee, you give?'
"'Twas not such a bad little man. He had hesita-
tions at first, sayin' that passengers leavin' the coun-
try had to have papers and passports, but at last he
took me out alongside the steamer.
"Day was just breakin' as we struck her, and there
wasn't a soul to be seen on board. The water was
very still, and the nigger-man gave me a lift from the
boat, and I climbed onto the steamer where her side
was sliced to the deck for loadin' fruit. The hatches
was open, and I looked down and saw the cargo of 198 Cabbages and Kings
bananas that filled the hold to within six feet of the top. I thinks to myself, 'Clancy, you better go as a stowaway. It's safer. The steamer men might hand you back to the employment bureau. The tropics'll get you, Clancy, if you don't watch out.'
"So I jumps down easy among the bananas, and
digs out a hole to hide in among the bunches. In an
hour or so I could hear the engines goin', and feel the
steamer rockin', and I knew we were off to sea. They
left the hatches open for ventilation, and pretty soon
it was light enough in the hold to see fairly well. I
got to feelin' a bit hungry, and thought I'd have a
light fruit lunch, by way of refreshment. I creeped
out of the hole I'd made and stood up straight. Just
then I saw another man crawl up about ten feet away
and reach out and skin a banana and stuff it into his
mouth. 'Twas a dirty man, black-faced and ragged
and disgraceful of aspect. Yes, the man was a ringer
for the pictures of the fat Weary Willie in the funny
papers. I looked again, and saw it was my general
man — De Vega, the great revolutionist, mule-rider
and pick-axe importer. When he saw me the general The Shamrock and the Palm 199
hesitated with his mouth filled with banana and his
eyes the size of cocoanuts.
i(' Hist!' I says. 'Not a word, or they'll put us off
and make us walk. "Veev la Liberty!"' I adds,
copperin' the sentiment by shovin' a banana into the
source of it. I was certain the general wouldn't rec-
ognize me. The nefarious work of the tropics had
left me lookin' different. There was half an inch of
roan whiskers coverin' me face, and me costume was
a pair of blue overalls and a red shirt.
"'How you come in the ship, senor?' asked the
general as soon as he could speak.
"'By the back door — whist!' says I. "Twas a
glorious blow for liberty we struck,' I continues: 4 but
we was overpowered by numbers. Let us accept our
defeat like brave men and eat another banana.'
"* Were you in the cause of liberty fightin', senor?'
says the general, sheddin' tears on the cargo.
"' To the last,' says I. ''Twas I led the last des-
perate charge against the minions of the tyrant. But
it made them mad, and we was forced to retreat.
'Twas I, general, procured the mule upon which you
escaped. Could you give that ripe bunch a little 200 Cabbages and Kings
boost this way, general? It's a bit out of my reach. Thanks.'
"'Say you so, brave patriot?' said the general,
again weepin'. 'Ah, Dios I And I have not the
means to reward your devotion. Barely did I my life
bring away. Carrambos! what a devil's animal was
that mule, senor! Like ships in one storm was I
dashed about. The skin on myself was ripped away
with the thorns and vines. Upon the bark of a hun-
dred trees did that beast of the infernal bump, and
cause outrage to the legs of mine. In the night to
Port Barrios I came. I dispossess myself of that
mountain of mule and hasten along the water shore.
I find a little boat to be tied. I launch myself and
row to the steamer. I cannot see any mans on board,
so I climbed one rope which hang at the side. I then
myself hide in the bananas. Surely, I say, if the ship
captains view me, they shall throw me again to those
Guatemala. Those things are not good. Guate-
mala will shoot General De Vega. Therefore, I am
hide and remain silent. Life itself is glorious. Lib-
erty, it is pretty good; but so good as life I do not
think.'
The Shamrock and the Palm 201
"Three days, as I said, was the trip to New Orleans.
The general man and me got to be cronies of the deep-
est dye. Bananas we ate until they were distasteful
to the sight and an eyesore to the palate, but to ba-
nanas alone was the bill of fare reduced. At night I
crawls out, careful, on the lower deck, and gets a
bucket of fresh water.
"That General De Vega was a man inhabited by
an engorgement of words and sentences. He added
to the monotony of the voyage by divestin' himself of
conversation. He believed I was a revolutionist of
his own party, there bein', as he told me, a good many
Americans and other foreigners in its ranks. 'Twas
a braggart and a conceited little gabbler it was,
though he considered himself a hero. 'Twas on him-
self he wasted all his regrets at the failin' of his plot.
Not a word did the little balloon have to say about the
other misbehavin' idiots that had been shot, or run
themselves to death in his revolution.
"The second day out he was feelin* pretty braggy
and uppish for a stowed-away conspirator that owed
his existence to a mule and stolen bananas. He was
tellin' me about the great railroad he had been build-
202 Cabbages and Kings
in', and he relates what he calls a comic incident
about a fool Irishman he inveigled from New Orleans
to sling a pick on his little morgue of a narrow-gauge
line. 'Twas sorrowful to hear the little, dirty general
tell the opprobrious story of how he put salt upon the
tail of that reckless and silly bird, Clancy. Laugh,
he did, hearty and long. He shook wiih laughin', the
black-faced rebel and outcast, standin' neck-deep in
bananas, without friends or country.
"' Ah, senor,' he snickers,'to the death you would
have laughed at that drollest Irish. I say to him:
"Strong, big mans is need very much in Guatemala/'
"I will blows strike for your down-pressed country,"
he say. "That shall you do," I tell him. Ah! it was
an Irish so comic. He sees one box break upon the
wharf that contain for the guard a few gun. He
think there is gun in all the box. But that is
all pickaxe. Yes. Ah! senor, could you the
face of that Irish have seen when they set him to
the work!'
"'Twas thus the ex-boss of the employment bureau
contributed to the tedium of the trip with merry jests
and anecdote. But now and then he would weep The Shamrock and the Palm 203
upon the bananas and make oration about the lost
cause of liberty and the mule.
"'Twas a pleasant sound when the steamer bump-
ed against the pier in New Orleans. Pretty soon we
heard the pat-a-pat of hundreds of bare feet, and the
Dago gang that unloads the fruit jumped on the deck
and down into the hold. Me and the general worked
a while at passin' up the bunches, and they thought
we were part of the gang. After about an hour we
managed to slip off the steamer onto the wharf.
"'Twas a great honour on the hands of an obscure
Clancy, havin' the entertainment of the representa-
tive of a great foreign filibusterin' power. I first
bought for the general and myself many long drinks
and things to eat that were not bananas. The gen-
eral man trotted along at my side, leavin' all the ar-
rangements to me. I led him up to Lafayette Square
and set him on a bench in the little park. Cigarettes
I had bought for him, and he humped himself down
on the seat like a little, fat, contented hobo. I look
him over as he sets there, and what I see pleases me.
Brown by nature and instinct, he is now brindled
with dirt and dust. Praise to the mule, his clothes
204 Cabbages and Kings
is mostly strings and flaps. Yes, the looks of the general man is agreeable to Clancy.
"I asks him, delicate, if, by any chance, he brought
away anybody's money with him from Guatemala.
He sighs and humps his shoulders against the bench.
Not a cent. All right. Maybe, he tells me, some of
his friends in the tropic outfit will send him funds
later. The general was as clear a case of no visible
means as I ever saw.
"I told him not to move from the bench, and then I
went up to the corner of Poydras and Carondelet.
Along there is O'Hara's beat. In five minutes along
comes O'Hara, a big, fine man, red-faced, with shinin'
buttons, swingin' his club. 'Twould be a fine thing
for Guatemala to move into O'Hara's precinct.
'Twould be a fine bit of recreation for Danny to sup-
press revolutions and uprisin's once or twice a week
with his club.
"'Is 5046 workin' yet, Danny?' says I, walkin'
up to him.
<(< Overtime,' says O'Hara, lookin' over me sus-
picious. 'Want some of it?'
"Fifty-forty-six is the celebrated city ordinance au-
The Shamrock and the Palm 205
thorizin' arrest, conviction and imprisonment of per-
sons that succeed in concealin' their crimes from the
police.
"' Don't ye know Jimmy Clancy?' says I. * Ye
pink-gilled monster.' So, when O'Hara recognized
me beneath the scandalous exterior bestowed upon
me by the tropics, I backed him into a doorway and
told him what I wanted, and why I wanted it. 'All
right, Jimmy,' says O'Hara. 'Go back and hold the
bench. I'll be along in ten minutes.'
"In that time O'Hara strolled through Lafayette
Square and spied two Weary Willies disgracin' one of
the benches. In ten minutes more J. Clancy and
General De Vega, late candidate for the presidency of
Guatemala, was in the station house. The general
is badly frightened, and calls upon me to proclaim his
distinguishments and rank.
"' The man,' says I to the police,e used to be a rail-
road man. He's on the bum now. 'Tis a little bug-
house he is, on account of losin' his job.'
"'Carrambos!' says the general, fizzin' like a little
soda-water fountain, 'you fought, senor, with my
forces in my native country. Why do you say the 206 Cabbages and Kings
lies? You shall say I am the General De Vega, one soldier, one caballero —'
"4 Railroader/ says I again. 'On the hog. No
good. Been livin' for three days on stolen bananas.
Look at him. Ain't that enough?'
"Twenty-five dollars or sixty days, was what the
recorder gave the general. He didn't have a cent, so
he took the time. They let me go, as I knew they
would, for I had money to show, and O'Hara spoke
for me. Yes; sixty days he got. 'Twas just so long
that I slung a pick for the great country of Kam —
Guatemala."
Clancy paused. The bright starlight showed a
reminiscent look of happy content on his seasoned
features. Keogh leaned in his chair and gave his
partner a slap on his thinly-clad back that sounded
like the crack of the surf on the sands.
"Tell 'em, ye divil," he chuckled, "how you got
even with the tropical general in the way of agricul-
tural manceuvrings."
"Havin' no money," concluded Clancy, with unc-
tion, "they set him to work his fine out with a gang
from the parish prison clearing Ursulines Street
The Shamrock and the Palm 207
Around the corner was a saloon decorated genially
with electric fans and cool merchandise. I made
that me headquarters, and every fifteen minutes I'd
walk around and take a look at the little man filibus-
terin' with a rake and shovel. 'Twas just such a hot
broth of a day as this has been. And I'd call at him
'Hey, monseer!' and he'd look at me black, with the
damp showin' through his shirt in places.
"' Fat, strong mans,' says I to General De Vega,
'is needed in New Orleans. Yes. To carry on the
good work. Carrambos! Erin go bragh!'"
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The Remnants of the Code
BREAKFAST in Coralio was at eleven. There-
fore the people did not go to market early. The
little wooden market-house stood on a patch of
short-trimmed grass, under the vivid green foliage
of a bread-fruit tree.
Thither one morning the venders leisurely con-
vened, bringing their wares with them. A porch or
platform six feet wide encircled the building, shaded
from the mid-morning sun by the projecting, grass-
thatched roof. Upon this platform the venders were
wont to display their goods — newly-killed beef, fish,
crabs, fruit of the country, cassava, eggs, dulces and
high, tottering stacks of native tortillas as large
around as the sombrero of a Spanish grandee.
The Remnants of the Code 209
But on this morning they whose stations lay on the
seaward side of the market-house, instead of spread-
ing their merchandise formed themselves into a softly
jabbering and gesticulating group. For there upon
their space of the platform was sprawled, asleep, the
unbeautiful figure of "Beelzebub" Blythe. He lay
upon a ragged strip of cocoa matting, more than ever
a fallen angel in appearance. His suit of coarse flax,
soiled, bursting at the seams, crumpled into a thou-
sand diversified wrinkles and creases, inclosed him
absurdly, like the garb of some effigy that had been
stuffed in sport and thrown there after indignity had
been wrought upon it. But firmly upon the high
bridge of his nose reposed his gold-rimmed glasses,
the surviving badge of his ancient glory.
The sun's rays, reflecting quiveringly from the rip-
pling sea upon his face, and the voices of the market-
men woke "Beelzebub" Blythe. He sat up, blink-
ing, and leaned his back against the wall of the mar-
ket. Drawing a blighted silk handkerchief from his
pocket, he assiduously rubbed and burnished his
glasses. And while doing this he became aware that
his bedroom had been invaded, and that polite brown 210 Cabbages and Kings
and yellow men were beseeching him to vacate in fa-
vour of their market stuff.
If the senor would have the goodness — a thousand
pardons for bringing to him molestation — but soon
would come the compradores for the day's provisions
— surely they had ten thousand regrets at disturbing
him! In this manner they expanded to him the intima-
tion that he must clear out and cease to clog the
wheels of trade.
Blythe stepped from the platform with the air of a
prince leaving his canopied couch. He never quite
lost that air, even at the lowest point of his fall. It
is clear that the college of good breeding does not
necessarily maintain a chair of morals within its walls.
Blythe shook out his wry clothing, and moved
slowly up the Calle Grande through the hot sand. He
moved without a destination in his mind. The
little town was languidly stirring to its daily life.
Golden-skinned babies tumbled over one another in
the grass. The sea breeze brought him appetite, but
nothing to satisfy it. Throughout Coralio were its
morning odors — those from the heavily fragrant The Remnants of the Code 211
tropical flowers and from the bread baking in the
outdoor ovens of clay and the pervading smoke
of their fires. Where the smoke cleared, the crystal
air, with some of the efficacy of faith, seemed to
remove the mountains almost to the sea, bringing
them so near that one might count the scarred glades
on their wooded sides. The light-footed Caribs were
swiftly gliding to their tasks at the waterside. Al-
ready along the bosky trails from the banana groves
files of horses were slowly moving, concealed, except
for their nodding heads and plodding legs, by the
bunches of green-golden fruit heaped upon their
backs. On doorsills sat women combing their long,
black hair and calling, one to another, across the nar-
row thoroughfares. Peace reigned in Coralio — arid
and bald peace; but still peace.
On that bright morning when Nature seemed to
be offering the lotus on the Dawn's golden platter
"Beelzebub" Blythe had reached rock bottom. Fur-
ther descent seemed impossible. That last night's
slumber in a public place had done for him. As long
as he had had a roof to cover him there had remained,
unbridged, the space that separates a gentleman 212 Cabbages and Kings
from the beasts of the jungle and the fowls of the air.
But now he was little more than a whimpering oyster
led to be devoured on the sands of a Southern sea
by the artful walrus, Circumstance, and the impla-
cable carpenter, Fate.
To Blythe money was now but a memory. He
had drained his friends of all that their good-fellow-
ship had to offer; then he had squeezed them to the
last drop of their generosity; and at the last, Aaron-
like, he had smitten the rock of their hardening
bosoms for the scattering, ignoble drops of Charity
itself.
He had exhausted his credit to the last real. With
the minute keenness of the shameless sponger he was
aware of every source in Coralio from which a glass
of rum, a meal or a piece of silver could be wheedled.
Marshalling each such source in his mind, he con-
sidered it with all the thoroughness and penetration
that hunger and thirst lent him for the task. All his
optimism failed to thresh a grain of hope from the
chaff of his postulations. He had played out the
game. That one night in the open had shaken his
nerves. Until then there had been left to him at The Remnants of the Code 213
least a few grounds upon which he could base his
unblushing demands upon his neighbours' stores.
Now he must beg instead of borrowing. The
most brazen sophistry could not dignify by the name
of "loan" the coin contemptuously flung to a beach-
comber who slept on the bare boards of the public
market.
But on this morning no beggar would have more
thankfully received a charitable coin, for the demon
thirst had him by the throat — the drunkard's matu-
tinal thirst that requires to be slaked at each morn-
ing station on the road to Tophet.
Blythe walked slowly up the street, keeping a
watchful eye for any miracle that might drop manna
upon him in his wilderness. As he passed the popu-
lar eating house of Madama Vasquez, Madama's
boarders were just sitting down to freshly-baked
bread, aguacates, pines and delicious coffee that sent
forth odorous guarantee of its quality upon the breeze.
Madama was serving; she turned her shy, stolid,
melancholy gaze for a moment out the window; she
saw Blythe, and her expression turned more shy and
embarrassed. "Beelzebub" owed her twenty pesos. 214 Cabbages and Kings
He bowed as he had once bowed to less embarrassed dames to whom he owed nothing, and passed on.
Merchants and their clerks were throwing open
the solid wooden doors of their shops. Polite but
cool were the glances they cast upon Blythe as he
lounged tentatively by with the remains of his old
jaunty air; for they were his creditors almost without
exception.
At the little f outain in the plaza he made an apology
for a toilet with his wetted handkerchief. Across the
open square filed the dolorous line of friends to the
prisoners in the calaboza, bearing the morning meal
of the immured. The food in their hands aroused
small longing in Blythe. It was drink that his soul
craved, or money to buy it.
In the streets he met many with whom he had been
friends and equals, and whose patience and liberality
he had gradually exhausted. Willard Geddie and
Paula cantered past him with the coolest of nods,
returning from their daily horseback ride along the
old Indian road. Keogh passed him at another cor-
ner, whistling cheerfully and bearing a prize of newly-
laid eggs for the breakfast of himself and Clancy. The Remnants of the Code 215
The jovial scout of Fortune was one of Blythe's vic-
tims who had plunged his hand oftenest into his
pocket to aid him. But now it seemed that Keogh,
too, had fortified himself against further invasions.
His curt greeting and the ominous light in his full,
grey eye quickened the steps of "Beelzebub,'' whom
desperation had almost incited to attempt an addi-
tional "loan."
Three drinking shops the forlorn one next visited
in succession. In all of these his money, his credit
and his welcome had long since been spent; but
Blythe felt that he would have fawned in the dust at
the feet of an enemy that morning for one draught
of aguardiente. In two of the pulperias his coura-
geous petition for drink was met with a refusal so
polite that it stung worse than abuse. The third
establishment had acquired something of American
methods; and here he was seized bodily and cast out
upon his hands and knees.
This physical indignity caused a singular change
in the man. As he picked himself up and walked
away, an expression of absolute relief came upon his
features. The specious and conciliatory smile that
216 Cabbages and Kings
had been graven there was succeeded by a look of
calm and sinister resolve. "Beelzebub" had been
floundering in the sea of improbity, holding by a
slender life-line to the respectable world that had
cast him overboard. He must have felt that with
this ultimate shock the line had snapped, and have
experienced the welcome ease of the drowning swim-
mer who has ceased to struggle.
Blythe walked to the next corner and stood there
while he brushed the sand from his garments and
re-polished his glasses.
"I've got to do it — oh, I've got to do it," he told
himself, aloud. "If I had a quart of rum I believe
I could stave it off yet — for a little while. But
there's no more rum for — 'Beelzebub,' as they
call me. By the flames of Tartarus! if I'm to sit at
the right hand of Satan somebody has got to pay the
court expenses. You'll have to pony up, Mr. Frank
Goodwin. You're a good fellow; but a gentleman
must draw the line at being kicked into the gutter.
Blackmail isn't a pretty word, but it's the next station
on the road I'm travelling."
With purpose in his steps Blythe now moved The Remnants of the Code 217
rapidly through the town by way of its landward
environs. He passed through the squalid quarters
of the improvident negroes and on beyond the pic-
turesque shacks of the poorer mestizos. From many
points along his course he could see, through the
umbrageous glades, the house of Frank Goodwin on
its wooded hill. And as he crossed the little bridge
over the lagoon he saw the old Indian, Galvez, scrub-
bing at the wooden slab that bore the name of Mira-
flores. Beyond the lagoon the lands of Goodwin
began to slope gently upward. A grassy road,
shaded by a munificent and diverse array of tropical
flora wound from the edge of an outlying banana
grove to the dwelling. Blythe took this road with
long and purposeful strides.
Goodwin was seated on his coolest gallery, dictat-
ing letters to his secretary, a sallow and capable
native youth. The household adhered to the Ameri-
can plan of breakfast; and that meal had been a
thing of the past for the better part of an hour.
The castaway walked to the steps, and flourished
a hand.
"Good morning, Blythe," said Goodwin, looking 218 Cabbages and Kings
up. "Come in and have a chair. Anything I can do for you ? w
"I want to speak to you in private."
Goodwin nodded at his secretary, who strolled out
under a mango tree and lit a cigarette. Blythe took
the chair that he had left vacant.
"I want some money," he began, doggedly.
"I'm sorry," said Goodwin, with equal directness,
"but you can't have any. You're drinking yourself
to death, Blythe. Your friends have done all they
could to help you to brace up. You won't help
yourself. There's no use furnishing you with money
to ruin yourself with any longer."
"Dear man," said Blythe, tilting back his chair,
"it isn't a question of social economy now. It's
past that. I like you, Goodwin; and I've come to
stick a knife between your ribs. I was kicked out
of Espada's saloon this morning; and Society owes
me reparation for my wounded feelings."
"I didn't kick you out."
"No; but in a general way you represent Society;
and in a particular way you represent my last chance.
I've had to come down to it, old man — I tried to do The Remnants of the Code 219
it a month ago when Losada's man was here turning
things over; but I couldn't do it then. Now it's
different. I want a thousand dollars, Goodwin; and
you'll have to give it to me."
"Only last week," said Goodwin, with a smile, "a
silver dollar was all you were asking for."
"An evidence," said Blythe, flippantly, "that I was
still virtuous —though under heavy pressure. The
wages of sin should be something higher than a peso
worth forty-eight cents. Let's talk business. I am
the villain in the third act; and I must have my mer-
ited, if only temporary, triumph. I saw you collar
the late president's valiseful of boodle. Oh, I know
it's blackmail; but I'm liberal about the price. I
know I'm a cheap villain — one of the regular saw-
mill-drama kind — but you're one of my particular
friends, and I don't want to stick you hard."
"Suppose you go into the details," suggested Good-
win, calmly arranging his letters on the table.
"All right," said "Beelzebub." "I like the way
you take it. I despise histrionics; so you will please
prepare yourself for the facts without any red fire,
calcium or grace notes on the saxophone.
220 Cabbages and Kings
r
"On the night that His Fly-by-night Excellency
arrived in town I was very drunk. You will excuse
the pride with which I state that fact; but it was quite
a feat for me to attain that desirable state. Some-
body had left a cot out under the orange trees in the
yard of Madama Ortiz's hotel. I stepped over the
wall, laid down upon it, and fell asleep. I was
awakened by an orange that dropped from the tree
upon my nose; and I laid there for awhile cursing Sir
Isaac Newton, or whoever it was that invented gravi-
tation, for not confining his theory to apples.
"And then along came Mr. Miraflores and his true-
love with the treasury in a valise, and went into the
hotel. Next you hove in sight, and held a pow-wow
with the tonsorial artist who insisted upon talking
shop after hours. I tried to slumber again; but once
more my rest was disturbed — this time by the noise
of the popgun that went off upstairs. Then that
valise came crashing down into an orange tree just
above my head; and I arose from my couch, not
knowing when it might begin to rain Saratoga trunks.
When the army and the constabulary began to arrive,
with their medals and decorations hastily pinned The Remnants of the Code 221
to their pajamas, and their snickersnees drawn, I
crawled into the welcome shadow of a banana plant.
I remained there for an hour, by which time the ex-
citement and the people had cleared away. And then,
my dear Goodwin — excuse me — I saw you sneak
back and pluck that ripe and juicy valise from the
orange tree. I followed you, and saw you take it
to your own house. A hundred-thousand-dollar crop
from one orange tree in a season about breaks the
record of the fruit-growing industry.
"Being a gentleman at that time, of course I never
mentioned the incident to anyone. But this morn-
ing I was kicked out of a saloon, my code of honour
is all out at the elbows, and I'd sell my mother's
prayer-book for three fingers of aguardiente. I'm
not putting on the screws hard. It ought to be worth
a thousand to you for me to have slept on that cot
through the whole business without waking up and
seeing anything."
Goodwin opened two more letters, and made mem-
oranda in pencil on them. Then he called "Man-
uel!" to his secretary, who came, spryly.
"The Ariel—when does she sail?" asked Goodwin.
222 Cabbages and Kings
"Senor," answered the youth, "at three this after-
noon. She drops down-coast to Punta Soledad to
complete her cargo of fruit. From there she sails for
New Orleans without delay.''
"Bueno!" said Goodwin. "These letters may
wait yet awhile."
The secretary returned to his cigarette under the
mango tree.
"In round numbers," said Goodwin, facing Blythe
squarely, "how much money do you owe in this
town, not including the sums you have 'borrowed'
from me?"
"Five hundred — at a rough guess," answered
Blythe, lightly.
"Go somewhere in the town and draw up a sched-
ule of your debts," said Goodwin. "Come back here
in two hours, and I will send Manuel with the money
to pay them. I will also have a decent outfit of cloth-
ing ready for you. You will sail on the Ariel at
three. Manuel will accompany you as far as the
deck of the steamer. There he will hand you one
thousand dollars in cash. I suppose that we needn't
discuss what you will be expected to do in return."
The Remnants of the Code 223
"Oh, I understand," piped Blythe, cheerily. "I
was asleep all the time on the cot under Madama
Ortiz's orange trees; and I shake off the dust of Co-
ralio forever. I'll play fair. No more of the lotus
for me. Your proposition is O. K. You're a good
fellow, Goodwin; and I let you off light. I'll agree
to everything. But in the meantime — I've a devil
of a thirst on, old man —"
"Not a centavo" said Goodwin, firmly, "until you
are on board the Ariel. You would be drunk in
thirty minutes if you had money now."
But he noticed the blood-streaked eyeballs, the re-
laxed form and the shaking hands of "Beelzebub;"
and he stepped into the dining room through the low
window, and brought out a glass and a decanter of
brandy.
"Take a bracer, anyway, before you go," he pro-
posed, even as a man to the friend whom he enter-
tains.
"Beelzebub" Blythe's eyes glistened at the sight of
the solace for which his soul burned. To-day for
the first time his poisoned nerves had been denied
their steadying dose; and their retort was a mounting 224 Cabbages and Kings
torment. He grasped the decanter and rattled its
crystal mouth against the glass in his trembling
hand. He flushed the glass, and then stood erect,
holding it aloft for an instant. For one fleeting mo-
ment he held his head above the drowning waves of
his abyss. He nodded easily at Goodwin, raised
his brimming glass and murmured a "health" that
men had used in his ancient Paradise Lost. And
then so suddenly that he spilled the brandy over his
hand, he set down his glass, untasted.
"In two hours," his dry lips muttered to Goodwin,
as he marched down the steps and turned his face
toward the town.
In the edge of the cool banana grove £< Beelzebub"
halted, and snapped the tongue of his belt buckle
into another hole.
"I couldn't do it," he explained, feverishly, to the
waving banana fronds. "I wanted to, but I couldn't.
A gentleman can't drink with the man that he black-
mails."
CHAPTER TWELVE
Shoes
JOHN DE GRAFFENREID ATWOOD ate of the lotus, root, stem, and flower. The tropics gob-
bled him up. He plunged enthusiastically into his
work, which was to try to forget Rosine.
Now, they who dine on the lotus rarely consume
it plain. There is a sauce au diable that goes with it;
and the distillers are the chefs who prepare it. And
on Johnny's menu card it read "brandy." With a
bottle between them, he and Billy Keogh would sit
on the porch of the little consulate at night and roar
out great, indecorous songs, until the natives, slipping
hastily past, would shrug a shoulder and mutter
things to themselves about the "Americanos diablos"
One day Johnny's mozo brought the mail and ££6 Cabbages and Kings
dumped it on the table. Johnny leaned from his
hammock, and fingered the four or five letters dejectedly. Keogh was sitting on the edge of the table
chopping lazily with a paper knife at the legs of a
centipede that was crawling among the stationery.
Johnny was in that phase of lotus-eating when all
the world tastes bitter in one's mouth.
"Same old thing!" he complained. "Fool people
writing for information about the country. They
want to know all about raising fruit, and how to make
a fortune without work. Half of 'em don't even
send stamps for a reply. They think a consul hasn't
anything to do but write letters. Slit those envelopes
for me, old man, and see what they want. I'm
feeling too rocky to move."
Keogh, acclimated beyond all possibility of ill-humour, drew his chair to the table with smiling com-
pliance on his rose-pink countenance, and began to
slit open the letters. Four of them were from citi-
zens in various parts of the United States who seemed
to regard the consul at Coralio as a cyclopaedia of
information. They asked long lists of questions,
numerically arranged, about the climate, products, Shoes 227
possibilities, laws, business chances, and statistics
of the country in which the consul had the honour of
representing his own government.
"Write 'em, please, Billy," said that inert official, "just a line, referring them to the latest consular
report. Tell 'em the State Department will be de-
lighted to furnish the literary gems. Sign my name.
Don't let your pen scratch, Billy; it'll keep me
awake."
"Don't snore," said Keogh, amiably, "and I'll
do your work for you. You need a corps of assist-
ants, anyhow. Don't see how you ever get out a
report. Wake up a minute! — here's one more
letter — it's from your own town, too — Dalesburg."
"That so?" murmured Johnny showing a mild
and obligatory interest. "What's it about?"
"Postmaster writes," explained Keogh. "Says a
citizen of the town wants some facts and advice from
you. Says the citizen has an idea in his head of
coming down where you are and opening a shoe store.
Wants to know if you think the business would pay.
Says he's heard of the boom along this coast, and
wants to get in on the ground floor."
228 Cabbages and Kings
In spite of the heat and his bad temper, Johnny's
hammock swayed with his laughter. Keogh laughed
too; and the pet monkey on the top shelf of the book-
case chattered in shrill sympathy with the ironical
reception of the letter from Dalesburg.
"Great bunions!" exclaimed the consul. "Shoe
store! What'll they ask about next, I wonder?
Overcoat factory, I reckon. Say, Billy — of our
3,000 citizens, how many do you suppose ever had
on a pair of shoes?"
Keogh reflected judicially.
"Let's see — there's you and me and —"
"Not me," said Johnny, promptly and incorrectly,
holding up a foot encased in a disreputable deerskin
zapato. "I haven't been a victim to shoes in
months."
"But you've got 'em, though," went on Keogh.
"And there's Goodwin and Blanchard and Geddie
and old Lutz and Doc Gregg and that Italian that's
agent for the banana company, and there's old
Delgado — no; he wears sandals. And, oh, yes;
there's Madama Ortiz,'what kapes the hotel'— she
had on a pair of red kid slippers at the baile the other Shoes 229
night. And Miss Pasa, her daughter, that went
to school in the States — she brought back some
civilized notions in the way of footgear. And there's
the comandante's sister that dresses up her feet on
feast-days — and Mrs. Geddie, who wears a two
with a Castilian instep — and that's about all the
ladies. Let's see — don't some of the soldiers at the
cuartel — no: that's so; they're allowed shoes only
when on the march. In barracks they turn their
little toeses out to grass."
"'Bout right," agreed the consul. "Not over
twenty out of the three thousand ever felt leather on
their walking arrangements. Oh, yes; Coralio is
just the town for an enterprising shoe store — that
doesn't want to part with its goods. Wonder if old
Patterson is trying to jolly me! He always was full
of things he called jokes. Write him a letter, Billy.
I'll dictate it. We'll jolly him back a few."
Keogh dipped his pen, and wrote at Johnny's dic-
tation. With many pauses, filled in with smoke and
sundry travellings of the bottle and glasses, the fol-
lowing reply to the Dalesburg communication was
perpetrated:
230 Cabbages and ,Kings
Mr. Obadiah Patterson,
Dalesburg, Ala.
Dear Sir: In reply to your favour of July 2d, I
have the honour to inform you that, according to my
opinion, there is no place on the habitable globe that
presents to the eye stronger evidence of the need of
a first-class shoe store than does the town of Coralio.
There are 3,000 inhabitants in the place, and not a
single shoe store! The situation speaks for itself.
This coast is rapidly becoming the goal of enterpris-
ing business men, but the shoe business is one that
has been sadly overlooked or neglected. In fact,
there are a considerable number of our citizens ac-
tually without shoes at present.
Besides the want above mentioned, there is also a
crying need for a brewery, a college of higher mathe-
matics, a coal yard, and a clean and intellectual
Punch and Judy show. I have the honour to be, sir,
Your Obt. Servant,
John De Graffenreid Atwood,
U. S. Consul at Coralio.
P.S.—Hello! Uncle Obadiah. How's the old burg
racking along? What would the government do
without you and me? Look out for a green-headed
parrot and a bunch of bananas soon, from your old
friend Johnny.
Shoes 231
"I throw in that postscript," explained the consul,
"so Uncle Obadiah won't take offence at the official
tone of the letter! Now, Billy, you get that corre-
spondence fixed up, and send Pancho to the post-office
with it. The Ariadne takes the mail out to-morrow
if they make up that load of fruit to-day."
The night programme in Coralio never varied.
The recreations of the people were soporific and flat.
They wandered about, barefoot and aimless, speak-
ing lowly and smoking cigar or cigarette. Looking
down on the dimly lighted ways one seemed to see
a threading maze of brunette ghosts tangled with a
procession of insane fireflies. In some houses the
thrumming of lugubrious guitars added to the de-
pression of the triste night. Giant tree-frogs rattled
in the foliage as loudly as the end man's "bones" in
a minstrel troupe. By nine o'clock the streets were
almost deserted.
Nor at the consulate was there often a change of
bill. Keogh would come there nightly, for Coralio's
one cool place was the little seaward porch of that
official residence.
The brandy would be kept moving; and before 232 Cabbages and Kings
midnight sentiment would begin to stir in the heart
of the self-exiled consul. Then he would relate to
Keogh the story of his ended romance. Each night
Keogh would listen patiently to the tale, and be ready
with untiring sympathy.
"But don't you think for a minute''— thus
Johnny would always conclude his woeful narrative
— "that I'm grieving about that girl, Billy. I've
forgotten her. She never enters my mind. If she
were to enter that door right now, my pulse wouldn't
gain a beat. That's all over long ago."
"Don't I know it?" Keogh would answer. "Of
course you've forgotten her. Proper thing to do.
Wasn't quite O. K. of her to listen to the knocks
that — er — Dink Pawson kept giving you."
"Pink Dawson!"— a world of contempt would
be in Johnny's tones —"Poor white trash! That's
what he was. Had five hundred acres of farming
land, though; and that counted. Maybe I'll have a
chance to get back at him some day. The Dawsons weren't anybody. Everybody in Alabama
knows the Atwoods. Say, Billy — did you know
my mother was a De Graffenreid?"
Shoes 233
"Why, no," Keogh would say; "is that so?" He
had heard it some three hundred times.
"Fact. The De Graffenreids of Hancock County.
But I never think of that girl any more, do I, Billy?"
"Not for a minute, my boy," would be the last
sounds heard by the conqueror of Cupid.
At this point Johnny would fall into a gentle slum-
ber, and Keogh would saunter out to his own shack
under the calabash tree at the edge of the plaza.
In a day or two the letter from the Dalesburg post-
master and its answer had been forgotten by the
Coralio exiles. But on the 26th day of July the fruit
of the reply appeared upon the tree of events.
The Andador, a fruit steamer that visited Coralio
regularly, drew into the offing and anchored. The
beach was lined with spectators while the quarantine
doctor and the custom-house crew rowed out to
attend to their duties.
An hour later Billy Keogh lounged into the con-
sulate, clean and cool in his linen clothes, and grin-
ning like a pleased shark.
"Guess what?" he said to Johnny, lounging in
his hammock,
234 Cabbages and Kings
"Too hot to guess," said Johnny, lazily.
"Your shoe-store man's come," said Keogh, roll-
ing the sweet morsel on his tongue, "with a stock of
goods big enough to supply the continent as far down
as Terra del Fuego. They're carting his cases over
to the custom-house now. Six barges full they
brought ashore and have paddled back for the rest.
Oh, ye saints in glory! won't there be regalements in
the air when he gets onto the joke and has an inter-
view with Mr. Consul? It'll be worth nine years in
the tropics just to witness that one joyful moment."
Keogh loved to take his mirth easily. He selected
a clean place on the matting and lay upon the floor.
The walls shook with his enjoyment. Johnny turned
half over and blinked.
"Don't tell me," he said, "that anybody was fool
enough to take that letter seriously."
"Four-thousand-dollar stock of goods!" gasped
Keogh, in ecstasy. "Talk about coals to Newcastle!
Why didn't he take a ship-load of palm-leaf fans to
Spitzbergen while he was about it? Saw the old
codger on the beach. You ought to have been there
when he put on his specs and squinted at the Shoes 235
five hundred or so barefooted citizens standing
around."
"Are you telling the truth, Billy?" asked the con-
sul, weakly.
"Am I? You ought to see the buncoed gentleman's
daughter he brought along. Looks! She makes
the brick-dust senoritas here look like tar-babies."
"Go on," said Johnny, "if you can stop that
asinine giggling. I hate to see a grown man make
a laughing hyena of himself."
"Name is Hemstetter," went on Keogh. "He's
a — Hello! what's the matter now?"
Johnny's moccasined feet struck the floor with a
thud as he wriggled out of his hammock.
"Get up, you idiot," he said, sternly, "or I'll
brain you with this inkstand. That's Rosine and
her father. Gad! what a drivelling idiot old Patter-
son is! Get up, here, Billy Keogh, and help me. What the devil are we going to do? Has all the
world gone crazy?"
Keogh rose and dusted himself. He managed to
regain a decorous demeanour.
"Situation has got to be met, Johnny," he said, 236 Cabbages and Kings
with some success at seriousness. "I didn't think
about its being your girl until you spoke. First thing
to do is to get them comfortable quarters. You go
down and face the music, and I'll trot out to Good-
win's and see if Mrs. Goodwin won't take them in.
They've got the decentest house in town."
"Bless you, Billy!" said the consul. "I knew
you wouldn't desert me. The world's bound to
come to an end, but maybe we can stave it off for a
day or two."
Keogh hoisted his umbrella and set out for Good-
win's house. Johnny put on his coat and hat. He
picked up the brandy bottle, but set it down again
without drinking, and marched bravely down to the
beach.
In the shade of the custom-house walls he found
Mr. Hemstetter and Rosine surrounded by a mass
of gaping citizens. The customs officers were duck-
ing and scraping, while the captain of the Andador
interpreted the business of the new arrivals. Rosine
looked healthy and very much alive. She was gazing
at the strange scenes around her with amused interest.
There was a faint blush upon her round cheek as she Shoes 237
greeted her old admirer. Mr. Hemstetter shook
hands with Johnny in a very friendly way. He was
an oldish, impractical man — one of that numerous
class of erratic business men who are forever dissatis-
fied, and seeking a change.
"I am very glad to see you, John — may I call you
John?" he said. Let me thank you for your prompt
answer to our postmaster's letter of inquiry. He
volunteered to write to you on my behalf. I was
looking about for something different in the way of
a business in which the profits would be greater.
I had noticed in the papers that this coast was receiv-
ing much attention from investors. I am extremely
grateful for your advice to come. I sold out every-
thing that I possess, and invested the proceeds in as
fine a stock of shoes as could be bought in the North.
You have a picturesque town here, John. I hope
business will be as good as your letter justifies me
in expecting."
Johnny's agony was abbreviated by the arrival
of Keogh, who hurried up with the news that
Mrs. Goodwin would be much pleased to place
rooms at the disposal of Mr. Hemstetter and his 238 Cabbages and Kings
daughter. So there Mr. Hemstetter and Rosine
were at once conducted and left to recuperate from
the fatigue of the voyage, while Johnny went down
to see that the cases of shoes were safely stored in the
customs warehouse pending their examination by the
officials. Keogh, grinning like a shark, skirmished
about to find Goodwin, to instruct him not to expose
to Mr. Hemstetter the true state of Coralio as a shoe
market until Johnny had been given a chance to
redeem the situation, if such a thing were possible.
That night the consul and Keogh held a desperate
consultation on the breezy porch of the consulate.
"Send 'em back home," began Keogh, reading
Johnny's thoughts.
"I would," said Johnny, after a little silence; "but
I've been lying to you, Billy."
"All right about that," said Keogh, affably.
"I've told you hundreds of times," said Johnny,
slowly, "that I had forgotten that girl, haven't I?"
"About three hundred and seventy-five," admit-
ted the monument of patience.
"I lied," repeated the consul, "every time. I
never forgot her for one minute. I was an obstinate Shoes 239
ass for running away just because she said 'No'
once. And I was too proud a fool to go back. I
talked with Rosine a few minutes this evening up at
Goodwin's. I found out one thing. You re-
member that farmer fellow who was always after
her?"
"Dink Pawson?" asked Keogh.
"Pink Dawson. Well, he wasn't a hill of beans
to her. She says she didn't believe a word of the
things he told her about me. But I'm sewed up
now, Billy. That tomfool letter we sent ruined
whatever chance I had left. She'll despise me when
she finds out that her old father has been made the
victim of a joke that a decent school boy wouldn't
have been guilty of. Shoes! Why he couldn't sell
twenty pairs of shoes in Coralio if he kept store here
for twenty years. You put a pair of shoes on one
of these Caribs or Spanish brown boys and what'd
he do? Stand on his head and squeal until he'd
kicked 'em off. None of 'em ever wore shoes and
they never will. If I send 'em back home I'll have
to tell the whole story, and what'll she think of me?
I want that girl worse than ever, Billy, and now when 240 Cabbages and Kings
she's in reach I've lost her forever because I tried to be funny when the thermometer was at 102."
"Keep cheerful," said the optimistic Keogh. "And
let 'em open the store. I've been busy myself this
afternoon. We can stir up a temporary boom in
foot-gear anyhow. I'll buy six pairs when the doors
open. I've been around and seen all the fellows and
explained the catastrophe. They'll all buy shoes
like they was centipedes. Frank Goodwin will take
cases of 'em. The Geddies want about eleven pairs
between 'em. Clancy is going to invest the savings
of weeks, and even old Doc Gregg wants three pairs
of alligator-hide slippers if they've got any tens.
Blanchard got a look at Miss Hemstetter; and as
he's a Frenchman, no less than a dozen pairs will do
for him."
"A dozen customers," said Johnny, 66 for a $4,000
stock of shoes! It won't work. There's a big prob-
lem here to figure out. You go home, Billy, and
leave me alone. I've got to work at it all by myself.
Take that bottle of Three-star along with you — no,
sir; not another ounce of booze for the United States
consul. I'll sit here to-night and pull out the think Shoes 241
stop. If there's a soft place on this proposition any-
where I'll land on it. If there isn't there'll be another
wreck to the credit of the gorgeous tropics."
Keogh left, feeling that he could be of no use.
Johnny laid a handful of cigars on a table and
stretched himself in a steamer chair. When the
sudden daylight broke, silvering the harbour rip-
ples, he was still sitting there. Then he got up,
whistling a little tune, and took his bath.
At nine o'clock he walked down to the dingy little
cable office and hung for half an hour over a blank.
The result of his application was the following mes-
sage, which he signed and had transmitted at a cost
of $33:
To Pinkney Dawson,
Dalesburg, Ala.
Draft for $100 comes to you next mail. Ship me
immediately 500 pounds stiff, dry cockleburrs. New
use here in arts. Market price twenty cents pound.
Further orders likely. Rush.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Ships
Within a week a suitable building had been
secured in the Calle Grande, and Mr. Hemstetter's
stock of shoes arranged upon their shelves. The
rent of the store was moderate; and the stock made
a fine showing of neat white boxes, attractively
displayed. Johnny's friends stood by him loyally. On the
first day Keogh strolled into the store in a casual
kind of way about once every hour, and bought
shoes. After he had purchased a pair each of exten-
sion soles, congress gaiters, button kids, low-quar-
tered calfs, dancing pumps, rubber boots, tans of
various hues, tennis shoes and flowered slippers, he
sought out Johnny to be prompted as to the names of Ships 243
other kinds that he might inquire for. The other
English-speaking residents also played their parts
nobly by buying often and liberally. Keogh was
grand marshal, and made them distribute their
patronage, thus keeping up a fair run of custom for
several days.
Mr. Hemstetter was gratified by the amount of
business done thus far; but expressed surprise that the
natives were so backward with their custom.
"Oh, they're awfully shy," explained Johnny, as
he wiped his forehead nervously. "They'll get the
habit pretty soon. They'll come with a rush when
they do come."
One afternoon Keogh dropped into the consul's
office, chewing an unlighted cigar thoughtfully.
"Got anytiiing up your sleeve?" he inquired of
Johnny. "If you have it's about time to show it.
If you can borrow some gent's hat in the audience,
and make a lot of customers for an idle stock of shoes
come out of it, you'd better spiel. The boys have
all laid in enough footwear to last 'em ten years;
and there's nothing doing in the shoe store but dolcy
far nienty. I just came by there. Your venerable 244 Cabbages and Kings
victim was standing in the door, gazing through his
specs at the bare toes passing by his emporium. The
natives here have got the true artistic temperament.
Me and Clancy took eighteen tintypes this morning
in two hours. There's been but one pair of shoes
sold all day. Blanchard went in and bought a pair
of fur-lined house-slippers because he thought he
saw Miss Hemstetter go into the store. I saw him
throw the slippers into the lagoon afterwards.''
"There's a Mobile fruit steamer coming in to-mor-
row or next day," said Johnny. "We can't do any-
thing until then."
"What are you going to do — try to create a de-
mand?"
"Political economy isn't your strong point," said
the consul, impudently. "You can't create a de-
mand. But you can create a necessity for a demand.
That's what I am going to do."
Two weeks after the consul sent his cable, a fruit
steamer brought him a huge, mysterious brown bale
of some unknown commodity. Johnny's influence
with the custom-house people was sufficiently strong
for him to get the goods turned over to him without Ships 245
the usual inspection. He had the bale taken to the
consulate and snugly stowed in the back room.
That night he ripped open a corner of it and took
out a handful of the cockleburrs. He examined
them with the care with which a warrior examines
his arms before he goes forth to battle for his lady-
-love and life. The burrs were the ripe August prod-
uct, as hard as filberts, and bristling with spines as
tough and sharp as needles. Johnny whistled softly
a little tune, and went out to find Billy Keogh.
Later in the night, when Coralio was steeped in
slumber, he and Billy went forth into the deserted
streets with their coats bulging like balloons. All up
and down the Calle Grande they went, sowing the
sharp burrs carefully in the sand, along the narrow
sidewalks, in every foot of grass between the silent
houses. And then they took the side streets and by-
ways, missing none. No place where the foot of
man, woman or child might fall was slighted. Many
trips they made to and from the prickly hoard. And
then, nearly at the dawn, they laid themselves down
to rest calmly, as great generals do after planning
a victory according to the revised tactics, and slept, 246 Cabbages and Kings
knowing that they had sowed with the accuracy of Satan sowing tares and the perseverance of Paul planting.
With the rising sun came the purveyors of fruits
and meats, and arranged their wares in and around
the little market-house. At one end of the town near
the seashore the market-house stood; and the sowing
of the burrs had not been carried that far. The
dealers waited long past the hour when their sales
usually began. None came to buy. "Que hay?"
they began to exclaim, one to another.
At their accustomed time, from every 'dobe and
palm hut and grass-thatched shack and dim patio
glided women — black women, brown women, lemon-
colored women, women dun and yellow and tawny.
They were the marketers starting to purchase the
family supply of cassava, plantains, meat, fowls, and
tortillas. Decollete they were and bare-armed and
bare-footed, with a single skirt reaching below the
knee. Stolid and ox-eyed, they stepped from their
doorways into the narrow paths or upon the soft grass
of the streets.
The first to emerge uttered ambiguous squeals, and Ships 247
raised one foot quickly. Another step and they sat
down, with shrill cries of alarm, to pick at the new and
painful insects that had stung them upon the feet.
"Que picadores diablos !99 they screeched to one an-
other across the narrow ways. Some tried the grass
instead of the paths, but there they were also stung
and bitten by the strange little prickly balls. They
plumped down in the grass, and added their lamen-
tations to those of their sisters in the sandy paths. All
through the town was heard the plaint of the feminine
jabber. The venders in the market still wondered
why no customers came.
Then men, lords of the earth, came forth. They,
too, began to hop, to dance, to limp, and to curse.
They stood stranded and foolish, or stooped to pluck
at the scourge that attacked their feet and ankles.
Some loudly proclaimed the pest to be poisonous
spiders of an unknown species.
And then the children ran out for their morning
romp. And now to the uproar was added the
howls of limping infants and cockleburred child-
hood. Every minute the advancing day brought
forth fresh victims.
248 Cabbages and Kings
Dona Maria Castillas y Buenventura de las Casas
stepped from her honoured doorway, as was her daily
custom, to procure fresh bread from the panaderia
across the street. She was clad in a skirt of flowered
yellow satin, a chemise of ruffled linen, and wore a
purple mantilla from the looms of Spain. Her lemon-tinted feet, alas! were bare. Her progress was ma-
jestic, for were not her ancestors hidalgos of Aragon?
Three steps she made across the velvety grass, and set
her aristocratic sole upon a bunch of Johnny's burrs.
Dona Maria Castillas y Buenventura de las Casas
emitted a yowl even as a wild-cat. Turning about,
she fell upon hands and knees, and crawled — ay, like
a beast of the field she crawled back to her honour-
able door-sill.
Don Sefior Ildefonso Federico Valdazar, Juez de la
Paz, weighing twenty stone, attempted to convey his
bulk to the pulperia at the corner of the plaza in order
to assuage his matutinal thirst. The first plunge of
his unshod foot into the cool grass struck a concealed
mine. Don Udefonso fell like a crumpled cathedral,
crying out that he had been fatally bitten by a deadly
scorpion. Everywhere were the shoeless citizens Ships 249
hopping, stumbling, limping, and picking from their
feet the venomous insects that had come in a single
night to harass them.
The first to perceive the remedy was Esteban Del-
gado, the barber, a man of travel and education. Sit-
ting upon a stone, he plucked burrs from his toes, and
made oration:
"Behold, my friends, these bugs of the devil! I
know them well. They soar through the skies in
swarms like pigeons. These are dead ones that fell
during the night. In Yucatan I have seen them as
large as oranges. Yes! There they hiss like ser-
pents, and have wings like bats. It is the shoes — the
shoes that one needs! Zapatos — zapatos para mi I"
Esteban hobbled to Mr. Hemstetter's store, and
bought shoes. Coming out, he swaggered down the
street with impunity, reviling loudly the bugs of the
devil. The suffering ones sat up or stood upon one
foot and beheld the immune barber. Men, women
and children took up the cry: "Zapatos I zapatos I"
The necessity for the demand had been created.
The demand followed. That day Mr. Hemstetter
sold three hundred pairs of shoes.
250 Cabbages and Kings
"It is really surprising," he said to Johnny, who
came up in the evening to help him straighten out the
stock, "how trade is picking up. Yesterday I made
but three sales."
"I told you they'd whoop things up when they got
started," said the consul.
"I think I shall order a dozen more cases of goods,
to keep the stock up," said Mr. Hemstetter, beaming
through his spectacles.
"I wouldn't send in any orders yet," advised
Johnny. "Wait till you see how the trade holds
up."
Each night Johnny and Keogh sowed the crop that
grew dollars by day. At the end of ten days two-
thirds of the stock of shoes had been sold; and the
stock of cockleburrs was exhausted. Johnny cabled
to Pink Dawson for another 500 pounds, paying
twenty cents per pound as before. Mr. Hemstetter
carefully made up an order for $1500 worth of shoes
from Northern firms. Johnny hung about the store
until this order was ready for the mail, and succeed-
ed in destroying it before it reached the postoffice.
That night he took Rosine under the mango tree by Ships 251
Goodwin's porch, and confessed everything. She
looked him in the eye, and said: "You are a very
wicked man. Father and I will go back home. You
say it was a joke? I think it is a very serious mat-
ter."
But at the end of half an hour's argument the con-
versation had been turned upon a different subject.
The two were considering the respective merits of
pale blue and pink wall paper with which the old
colonial mansion of the Atwoods in Dalesburg was to
be decorated after the wedding.
On the next morning Johnny confessed to Mr.
Hemstetter. The shoe merchant put on his specta-
cles, and said through them: "You strike me as being
a most extraordinary young scamp. If I had not
managed this enterprise with good business judg-
ment my entire stock of goods might have been a
complete loss. Now, how do you propose to dispose
of the rest of it?"
When the second invoice of cockleburrs arrived
Johnny loaded them and the remainder of the shoes
into a schooner, and sailed down the coast to
Alazan.
252 Cabbages and Kings
There, in the same dark and diabolical manner, he
repeated his success: and came back with a bag of
money and not so much as a shoestring.
And then he besought his great Uncle of the waving
goatee and starred vest to accept his resignation, for
the lotus no longer lured him. He hankered for the
spinach and cress of Dalesburg.
The services of Mr. William Terence Keogh as
acting consul, pro tem., were suggested and accepted,
and Johnny sailed with the Hemstetters back to his
native shores.
Keogh slipped into the sinecure of the American
consulship with the ease that never left him even in
such high places. The tintype establishment was
soon to become a thing of the past, although its deadly
work along the peaceful and helpless Spanish Main
was never effaced. The restless partners were about
to be off again, scouting ahead of the slow ranks of
Fortune. But now they would take different ways.
There were rumours of a promising uprising in Peru;
and thither the martial Clancy would turn his adven-
turous steps. As for Keogh, he was figuring in his
mind and on quires of Government letter-heads a Ships 253
scheme that dwarfed the art of misrepresenting the
human countenance upon tin.
"What suits me," Keogh used to say, "in the way
of a business proposition is something diversified that
looks like a longer shot than it is — something in
the way of a genteel graft that isn't worked enough
for the correspondence schools to be teaching it by
mail. I take the long end; but I like to have at least
as good a chance to win as a man learning to play
poker on an ocean steamer, or running for governor
of Texas on the Republican ticket. And when I
cash in my winnings I don't want to find any widows'
and orphans' chips in my stack."
The grass-grown globe was the green table on
which Keogh gambled. The games he played were
of his own invention. He was no grubber after the
diffident dollar. Nor did he care to follow it with
horn and hounds. Rather he loved to coax it with
egregious and brilliant flies from its habitat in the
waters of strange streams. Yet Keogh was a business
man; and his schemes, in spite of their singularity,
were as solidly set as the plans of a building contrac-
tor. In Arthur's time Sir William Keogh would 254 Cabbages and Kings
have been a Knight of the Round Table. In these
modern days he rides abroad, seeking the Graft in-
stead of the Grail.
Three days after Johnny's departure, two small
schooners appeared off Coralio. After some delay a
boat put off from one of them, and brought a sun-
burned young man ashore. This young man had a
shrewd and calculating eye; and he gazed with
amazement at the strange things that he saw. He
found on the beach some one who directed him to
the consul's office; and thither he made his way at a
nervous gait.
Keogh was sprawled in the official chair, drawing
caricatures of his Uncle's head on an official pad of
paper. He looked up at his visitor.
"Where's Johnny Atwood?" inquired the sun-
burned young man, in a business tone.
"Gone," said Keogh, working carefully at Uncle
Sam's necktie.
"That's just like him," remarked the nut-brown
one, leaning against the table. "He always was a
fellow to gallivant around instead of 'tending to
business. Will he be in soon?"
Ships 255
"Don't think so," said Keogh, after a fair amount
of deliberation.
"I s'pose he's out at some of his tomfoolery," con-
jectured the visitor, in a tone of virtuous conviction.
"Johnny never would stick to anything long enough
to succeed. I wonder how he manages to run his
business here, and never be 'round to look after it."
"I'm looking after the business just now," admit-
ted the pro tern, consul.
i( Are you ? — then, say! — where's the factory?"
"What factory?" asked Keogh, with mildly polite
interest.
"Why, the factory where they use them cockle-
burrs. Lord knows what they use 'em for, anyway!
I've got the basements of both them ships out there
loaded with 'em. I'll give you a bargain in this
lot. I've had every man, woman and child around
Dalesburg that wasn't busy pickin' 'em for a month.
I hired these ships to bring 'em over. Everybody
thought I was crazy. Now, you can have this lot for
fifteen cents a pound, delivered on land. And if you
want more I guess old Alabam' can come up to the
demand. Johnny told me when he left home that if 256 Cabbages and Kings
he struck anything down here that there was any
money in he'd let me in on it. Shall I drive the ships
in and hitch ?99
A look of supreme, almost incredulous, delight
dawned in Keogh's ruddy countenance. He dropped
his pencil. His eyes turned upon the sunburned
young man with joy in them mingled with fear lest
his ecstasy should prove a dream.
"For God's sake tell me," said Keogh, earnestly,
"are you Dink Pawson?"
"My name is Pinkney Dawson," said the cornerer
of the cockleburr market.
Billy Keogh slid rapturously and gently from his
chair to his favourite strip of matting on the floor.
There were not many sounds in Coralio on that
sultry afternoon. Among those that were may be
mentioned a noise of enraptured and unrighteous
laughter from a prostrate Irish-American, while a
sunburned young man, with a shrewd eye, looked on
him with wonder and amazement. Also the " tramp,
tramp, tramp" of many well-shod feet in the streets
outside. Also the lonesome wash of the waves that
beat along the historic shores of the Spanish Main.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Masters of Arts
A TWO-INCH stub of a blue pencil was the wand
with which Keogh performed the preliminary acts of
his magic. So, with this he covered paper with dia-
grams and figures while he waited for the United
States of America to send down to Coralio a suc-
cessor to Atwood, resigned.
The new scheme that his mind had conceived, his
stout heart indorsed, and his blue pencil corrobo-
rated, was laid around the characteristics and human
frailties of the new president of Anchuria. These
characteristics, and the situation out of which Keogh
hoped to wrest a golden tribute, deserve chronicling
contributive to the clear order of events.
President Losada — many called him Dictator — £58 Cabbages and Kings
was a man whose genius would have made him con-
spicuous even among Anglo-Saxons, had not that
genius been intermixed with other traits that were
petty and subversive. He had some of the lofty pa-
triotism of Washington (the man he most admired),
the force of Napoleon, and much of the wisdom of the
sages. These characteristics might have justified
him in the assumption of the title of "The Illustrious
Liberator," had they not been accompanied by a
stupendous and amazing vanity that kept him in the
less worthy ranks of the dictators.
Yet he did his country great service. With a
mighty grasp he shook it nearly free from the shackles
of ignorance and sloth and the vermin that fed upon
it, and all but made it a power in the council of
nations. He established schools and hospitals, built
roads, bridges, railroads and palaces, and bestowed
generous subsidies upon the arts and sciences. He
was the absolute despot and the idol of his people.
The wealth of the country poured into his hands.
Other presidents had been rapacious without reason.
Losada amassed enormous wealth, but his people
had their share of the benefits.
Masters of Arts 259
The joint in his armour was his insatiate passion for
monuments and tokens commemorating his glory. In
every town he caused to be erected statues of himself
bearing legends in praise of his greatness. In the walls
of every public edifice, tablets were fixed reciting
his splendour and the gratitude of his subjects. His
statuettes and portraits were scattered through-
out the land in every house and hut. One of
the sycophants in his court painted him as St. John,
with a halo and a train of attendants in full
uniform. Losada saw nothing incongruous in this
picture, and had it hung in a church in the capital.
He ordered from a French sculptor a marble group
including himself with Napoleon, Alexander the
Great, and one or two others whom he deemed
worthy of the honour.
He ransacked Europe for decorations, employing
policy, money and intrigue to cajole the orders he cov-
eted from kings and rulers. On state occasions his
breast was covered from shoulder to shoulder with
crosses, stars, golden roses, medals and ribbons. It
was said that the man who could contrive for him a
new decoration, or invent some new method of extoll-
260 Cabbages and Kings
ing his greatness, might plunge a hand deep into the
treasury.
This was the man upon whom Billy Keogh had his
eye. The gentle buccaneer had observed the rain of
favours that fell upon those who ministered to the
president's vanities, and he did not deem it his duty
to hoist his umbrella against the scattering drops of
liquid fortune.
In a few weeks the new consul arrived, releasing
Keogh from his temporary duties. He was a young
man fresh from college, who lived for botany alone.
The consulate at Coralio gave him the opportunity to
study tropical flora. He wore smoked glasses, and
carried a green umbrella. He filled the cool, back
porch of the consulate with plants and specimens so
that space for a bottle and chair was not to be found.
Keogh gazed on him sadly, but without rancour, and
began to pack his gripsack. For his new plot against
stagnation along the Spanish Main required of him a
voyage overseas.
Soon came the Karlsefin again — she of the
trampish habits — gleaning a cargo of cocoanuts
for a speculative descent upon the New York Masters of Arts 261
market. Keogh was booked for a passage on the
return trip.
"Yes, I'm going to New York," he explained to the
group of his countrymen that had gathered on the
beach to see him off. "But I'll be back before you
miss me. I've undertaken the art education of this
piebald country, and I'm not the man to desert it
while it's in the early throes of tintypes."
With this mysterious declaration of his intentions
Keogh boarded the K arisefin.
Ten days later, shivering, with the collar of his thin
coat turned high, he burst into the studio of Carolus
White at the top of a tall building in Tenth Street,
New York City.
Carolus White was smoking a cigarette and frying
sausages over an oil stove. He was only twenty-
three, and had noble theories about art.
"Billy Keogh!" exclaimed White, extending the
hand that was not busy with the frying pan. "From
what part of the uncivilized world, I wonder!"
"Hello, Carry," said Keogh, dragging forward a
stool, and holding his fingers close to the stove. "I'm
glad I found you so soon. I've been looking for you 262 Cabbages and Kings
all day in the directories and art galleries. The free-lunch man on the corner told me where you were,
quick. I was sure you'd be painting pictures yet."
Keogh glanced about the studio with the shrewd
eye of a connoisseur in business.
"Yes, you can do it," he declared, with many
gentle nods of his head. "That big one in the
corner with the angels and green clouds and band-
-wagon is just the sort of thing we want. What
would you call that, Carry — scene from Coney
Island, ain't it?"
"That," said White, "I had intended to call 'The
Translation of Elijah,' but you may be nearer right
than I am."
"Name doesn't matter," said Keogh, largely; " it's
the frame and the varieties of paint that does the
trick. Now, I can tell you in a minute what I want.
I've come on a little voyage of two thousand miles
to take you in with me on a scheme. I thought of
you as soon as the scheme showed itself to me. How
would you like to go back with me and paint a pic-
ture? Ninety days for the trip, and five thousand
dollars for the job."
i
Masters of Arts 263
"Cereal food or hair-tonic posters ?" asked White."It isn't an ad."
"What kind of a picture is it to be?"
"It's a long story," said Keogh.
"Go ahead with it. If you don't mind, while
you talk I'll just keep my eye on these sausages.
Let 'em get one shade deeper than a Vandyke brown
and you spoil 'em."
Keogh explained his project. They were to return
to Coralio, where White was to pose as a distin-
guished American portrait painter who was touring
in the tropics as a relaxation from his arduous and
remunerative professional labours. It was not an
unreasonable hope, even to those who trod in the
beaten paths of business, that an artist with so
much prestige might secure a commission to per-
petuate upon canvas the lineaments of the president,
and secure a share of the pesos that were raining
upon the caterers to his weaknesses.
Keogh had set his price at ten thousand dollars.
Artists had been paid more for portraits. He and
White were to share the expenses of the trip, and
divide the possible profits. Thus he laid the scheme 264 Cabbages and Kings
before White, whom he had known in the West before one declared for Art and the other became a Bedouin.
Before long the two machinators abandoned the
rigour of the bare studio for a snug corner of a cafe.
There they sat far into the night, with old envelopes
and Keogh's stub of blue pencil between them.
At twelve o'clock White doubled up in his chair,
with his chin on his fist, and shut his eyes at the
unbeautiful wall-paper.
"I'll go you, Billy," he said, in the quiet tones of
decision. "I've got two or three hundred saved up
for sausages and rent; and I'll take the chance with
you. Five thousand! It will give me two years in
Paris and one in Italy. I'll begin to pack to-mor-
row."
"You'll begin in ten minutes," said Keogh. "It's
to-morrow now. The Karlsefin starts back at four
p. m. Come on to your painting shop, and I'll help you."
For five months in the year Coralio is the Newport
of Anchuria. Then only does the town possess life.
From November to March it is practically the seat of Masters of Arts 265
government. The president with his official family
sojourns there; and society follows him. The pleas-
ure-loving people make the season one long holiday
of amusement and rejoicing. Fiestas, balls, games,
sea bathing, processions and small theatres contrib-
ute to their enjoyment. The famous Swiss band
from the capital plays in the little plaza every even-
ing, while the fourteen carriages and vehicles in the
town circle in funereal but complacent procession.
Indians from the interior mountains, looking like
prehistoric stone idols, come down to peddle their
handiwork in the streets. The people throng the
narrow ways, a chattering, happy, careless stream
of buoyant humanity. Preposterous children rigged
out with the shortest of ballet skirts and gilt wings,
howl, underfoot, among the effervescent crowds.
Especially is the arrival of the presidential party, at
the opening of the season, attended with pomp,
show and patriotic demonstrations of enthusiasm
and delight.
When Keogh and White reached their destination,
on the return trip of the Karlsefin, the gay winter sea-
son was well begun. As they stepped upon the 266 Cabbages and Kings
beach they could hear the band playing in the plaza.
The village maidens, with fireflies already fixed in
their dark locks, were gliding, barefoot and coy-
eyed, along the paths. Dandies in white linen,
swinging their canes, were beginning their seductive
strolls. The air was full of human essence, of arti-
ficial enticement, of coquetry, indolence, pleasure —
the man-made sense of existence.
The first two or three days after their arrival were
spent in preliminaries. Keogh escorted the artist
about town, introducing him to the little circle of
English-speaking residents and pulling whatever
wires he could to effect the spreading of White's fame
as a painter. And then Keogh planned a more spec-
tacular demonstration of the idea he wished to keep
before the public.
He and White engaged rooms in the Hotel de los
Estranjeros. The two were clad in new suits of
immaculate duck, with American straw hats, and
carried canes of remarkable uniqueness and inutility.
Few caballeros in Coralio — even the gorgeously uni-
formed officers of the Anchurian army — were as
conspicuous for ease and elegance of demeanour as Masters of Arts 267
Keogh and his friend, the great American painter,
Senor White.
White set up his easel on the beach and made strik-
ing sketches of the mountain and sea views. The
native population formed at his rear in a vast, chat-
tering semicircle to watch his work. Keogh, with
his care for details, had arranged for himself a pose
which he carried out with fidelity. His role was that
of friend to the great artist, a man of affairs and
leisure. The visible emblem of his position was a
pocket camera.
"For branding the man who owns it," said he,
"a genteel dilettante with a bank account and an
easy conscience, a steam-yacht ain't in it with a
camera. You see a man doing nothing but loafing
around making snap-shots, and you know right away
he reads up well in 'Bradstreet.' You notice these
old millionaire boys — soon as they get through
taking everything else in sight they go to taking
photographs. People are more impressed by a
kodak than they are by a title or a four-carat
scarf-pin." So Keogh strolled blandly about
Coralio, snapping the scenery and the shrinking 268 Cabbages and Kings
senoritas, while White posed conspicuously in the higher regions of art.
Two weeks after their arrival, the scheme began to
bear fruit. An aide-de-camp of the president drove
to the hotel in a dashing victoria. The president desired that Sefior White come to the Casa Morena
for an informal interview.
Keogh gripped his pipe tightly between his teeth.
"Not a cent less than ten thousand," he said to the
artist —" remember the price. And in gold or its
equivalent — don't let him stick you with this bar-
gain-counter stuff they call money here."
"Perhaps it isn't that he wants," said White.
"Get out!" said Keogh, with splendid confidence.
"I know what he wants. He wants his picture
painted by the celebrated young American painter
and filibuster now sojourning in his down-trodden
country. Off you go."
The victoria sped away with the artist. Keogh
walked up and down, puffing great clouds of smoke
from his pipe, and waited. In an hour the victoria
swept again to the door of the hotel, deposited White,
and vanished. The artist dashed up the stairs, Masters of Arts 269
three at a step. Keogh stopped smoking, and be-
came a silent interrogation point.
"Landed," exclaimed White, with his boyish face
flushed with elation. "Billy, you are a wonder. He
wants a picture. I'll tell you all about it. By
Heavens! that dictator chap is a corker! He's a
dictator clear down to his finger-ends. He's a kind
of combination of Julius Caesar, Lucifer and Chaun-
cey Depew done in sepia. Polite and grim — that's
his way. The room I saw him in was about ten
acres big, and looked like a Mississippi steamboat
with its gilding and mirrors and white paint. He talks
English better than I can ever hope to. The matter
of the price came up. I mentioned ten thousand.
I expected him to call the guard and have me taken
out and shot. He didn't move an eyelash. He just
waved one of his chestnut hands in a careless way,
and said, 'Whatever you say.' I am to go back to-
-morrow and discuss with him the details of the
picture."
Keogh hung his head. Self-abasement was easy to
read in his downcast countenance.
"I'm failing, Carry," he said, sorrowfully. "I'm 270 Cabbages and Kings
not fit to handle these man's-size schemes any longer.
Peddling oranges in a push-cart is about the suitable
graft for me. When I said ten thousand, I swear I
thought I had sized up that brown man's limit to
within two cents. He'd have melted down for
fifteen thousand just as easy. Say — Carry — you'll
see old man Keogh safe in some nice, quiet idiot
asylum, won't you, if he makes a break like that
• *\ 99
again?
The Casa Morena, although only one story in
height, was a building of brown stone, luxurious as
a palace in its interior. It stood on a low hill in a
walled garden of splendid tropical flora at the upper
edge of Coralio. The next day the president's car-
riage came again for the artist. Keogh went out for
a walk along the beach, where he and his "picture
box" were now familiar sights. When he returned
to the hotel White was sitting in a steamer-chair on
the balcony.
"Well," said Keogh, "did you and His Nibs decide
on the kind of a chromo he wants?"
White got up and walked back and forth on the
balcony a few times. Then he stopped, and laughed Masters of Arts 271
strangely. His face was flushed, and his eyes were
bright with a kind of angry amusement.
"Look here, Billy," he said, somewhat roughly,
<c when you first came to me in my studio and men-
tioned a picture, I thought you wanted a Smashed
Oats or a Hair Tonic poster painted on a range of
mountains or the side of a continent. Well, either
of those jobs would have been Art in its highest form
compared to the one you've steered me against. I
can't paint that picture, Billy. You've got to let me
out. Let me try to tell you what that barbarian
wants. He had it all planned out and even a sketch
made of his idea. The old boy doesn't draw badly
at all. But, ye goddesses of Art! listen to the mon-
strosity he expects me to paint. He wants himself
in the centre of the canvas, of course. He is to be
painted as Jupiter sitting on Olympus, with the
clouds at his feet. At one side of him stands George
Washington, in full regimentals, with his hand on the
president's shoulder. An angel with outstretched
wings hovers overhead, and is placing a laurel wreath
on the president's head, crowning him — Queen of
the May, I suppose. In the background is to be 272 Cabbages and Kings
cannon, more angels and soldiers. The man who would paint that picture would have to have the soul of a dog, and would deserve to go down into oblivion without even a tin can tied to his tail to sound his memory."
Little beads of moisture crept out all over Billy
Keogh's brow. The stub of his blue pencil had not
figured out a contingency like this. The machinery
of his plan had run with flattering smoothness until
now. He dragged another chair upon the balcony,
and got White back to his seat. He lit his pipe with
apparent calm.
"Now, sonny," he said, with gentle grimness, "you
and me will have an Art to Art talk. You've got your
art and I've got mine. Yours is the real Pierian
stuff that turns up its nose at bock-beer signs and
oleographs of the Old Mill. Mine's the art of
Business. This was my scheme, and it worked
out like two-and-two. Paint that president man
as Old King Cole, or Venus, or a landscape, or
a fresco, or a bunch of lilies, or anything he thinks
he looks like. But get the paint on the canvas and
collect the spoils. You wouldn't throw me down, Masters of Arts 273
Carry, at this stage of the game. Think of that
ten thousand."
"I can't help thinking of it," said White, "and that's
what hurts. I'm tempted to throw every ideal I ever
had down in the mire, and steep my soul in infamy
by painting that picture. That five thousand meant
three years of foreign study to me, and I'd almost
sell my soul for that."
"Now it ain't as bad as that," said Keogh, sooth-
ingly. "It's a business proposition. It's so much
paint and time against money. I don't fall in with
your idea that that picture would so everlastingly jolt
the art side of the question. George Washington
was all right, you know, and nobody could say a word
against the angel. I don't think so bad of that group.
If you was to give Jupiter a pair of epaulets and a
sword, and kind of work the clouds around to look
like a blackberry patch, it wouldn't make such a bad
battle scene. Why, if we hadn't already settled on
the price, he ought to pay an extra thousand for
Washington, and the angel ought to raise it five hun-
dred."
"You don't understand, Billy," said WTiite, with
274 Cabbages and Kings
an uneasy laugh. "Some of us fellows who try to
paint have big notions about Art. I wanted to paint
a picture some day that people would stand before
and forget that it was made of paint. I wanted it to
creep into them like a bar of music and mushroom
there like a soft bullet. And I wanted 'em to go
away and ask, 'What else has he done?' And I
didn't want 'em to find a thing; not a portrait nor
a magazine cover nor an illustration nor a drawing
of a girl — nothing but the picture. That's why I've
lived on fried sausages, and tried to keep true to
myself. I persuaded myself to do this portrait for
the chance it might give me to study abroad. But
this howling, screaming caricature! Good Lord!
can't you see how it is?"
"Sure," said Keogh, as tenderly as he would have
spoken to a child, and he laid a long forefinger on
White's knee. "I see. It's bad to have your art
all slugged up like that. I know. You wanted to
paint a big thing like the panorama of the battle of
Gettysburg. But let me kalsomine you a little men-
tal sketch to consider. Up to date we're out $385.50
on this scheme. Our capital took every cent both Masters of Arts 275
of us could raise. We've got about enough left to
get back to New York on. I need my share of that
ten thousand. I want to work a copper deal in
Idaho, and make a hundred thousand. That's the
business end of the thing. Come down off your art
perch, Carry, and let's land that hatful of dollars."
"Billy," said White, with an effort, "I'll try. I
won't say I'll do it, but I'll try. I'll go at it, and put
it through if I can."
"That's business," said Keogh, heartily. "Good
boy! Now, here's another thing — rush that picture
— crowd it through as quick as you can. Get a
couple of boys to help you mix the paint if necessary.
I've picked up some pointers around town. The
people here are beginning to get sick of Mr. President.
They say he's been too free with concessions; and
they accuse him of trying to make a dicker with Eng-
land to sell out the country. We want that picture
done and paid for before there's any row."
In the great patio of Casa Morena, the president
caused to be stretched a huge canvas. Under this
White set up his temporary studio. For two hours
each day the great man sat to him.
276 Cabbages and Kings
White worked faithfully. But, as the work pro-
gressed, he had seasons of bitter scorn, of infinite
self-contempt, of sullen gloom and sardonic gaiety.
Keogh, with the patience of a great general, soothed,
coaxed, argued — kept him at the picture.
At the end of a month White announced that the
picture was completed — Jupiter, Washington, an-
gels, clouds, cannon and all. His face was pale and
his mouth drawn straight when he told Keogh. He
said the president was much pleased with it. It was
to be hung in the National Gallery of Statesmen and
Heroes. The artist had been requested to return to
Casa Morena on the following day to receive pay-
ment. At the appointed time he left the hotel, silent
under his friend's joyful talk of their success.
An hour later he walked into the room where
Keogh was waiting, threw his hat on the floor, and
sat upon the table.
"Billy," he said, in strained and labouring tones,
"I've a little money out West in a small business that
my brother is running. It's what I've been living on
while I've been studying art. I'll draw out my share
and pay you back what you've lost on this scheme."
Masters of Arts 277
"Lost!" exclaimed Keogh, jumping up. "Didn't
you get paid for the picture?"
"Yes, I got paid," said White. "But just now
there isn't any picture, and there isn't any pay. If
you care to hear about it, here are the edifying de-
tails. The president and I were looking at the paint-
ing. His secretary brought a bank draft on New
York for ten thousand dollars and handed it to me.
The moment I touched it I went wild. I tore it into
little pieces and threw them on the floor. A work-
man was repainting the pillars inside the patio. A
bucket of his paint happened to be convenient. I
picked up his brush and slapped a quart of blue paint
all over that ten-thousand-dollar nightmare. I bowed,
and walked out. The president didn't move or
speak. That was one time he was taken by surprise.
It's tough on you, Billy, but I couldn't help it."
There seemed to be excitement in Coralio. Out-
side there was a confused, rising murmur pierced by
high-pitched cries. "Bajo el traidor — Muerte el
traidor!" were the words they seemed to form.
"Listen to that!" exclaimed White, bitterly; "I
know that much Spanish. They're shouting,' Down
278 Cabbages and Kings
with the traitor!' I heard them before. I felt that
they meant me. I was a traitor to Art. The picture
had to go."
"4 Down with the blank fool' would have suited
your case better," said Keogh, with fiery emphasis.
"You tear up ten thousand dollars like an old rag
because the way you've spread on five dollars' worth
of paint hurts your conscience. Next time I pick a
side-partner in a scheme the man has got to go before
a notary and swear he never even heard the word
* ideal' mentioned."
Keogh strode from the room, white-hot. White
paid little attention to his resentment. The scorn of
Billy Keogh seemed a trifling thing beside the greater
self-scorn he had escaped.
In Coralio the excitement waxed. An outburst
was imminent. The cause of this demonstration
of displeasure was the presence in the town of a big,
pink-cheeked Englishman, who, it was said, was an
agent of his government come to clinch the bargain
by which the president placed his people in the hands
of a foreign power. It was charged that not only had
he given away priceless concessions, but that the Masters of Arts 279
public debt was to be transferred into the hands of
the English, and the custom-houses turned over to
them as a guarantee. The long-enduring people had
determined to make their protest felt.
On that night, in Coralio and in other towns, their
ire found vent. Yelling mobs, mercurial but danger-
ous, roamed the streets. They overthrew the great
bronze statue of the president that stood in the cen-
tre of the plaza, and hacked it to shapeless pieces.
They tore from public buildings the tablets set there
proclaiming the glory of the "Illustrious Liberator."
His pictures in the government offices were demol-
ished. The mobs even attacked the Casa Morena,
but were driven away by the military, which remained
faithful to the executive. All the night terror
reigned.
The greatness of Losada was shown by the fact
that by noon the next day order was restored, and he
was still absolute. He issued proclamations deny-
ing positively that any negotiation of any kind had
been entered into with England. Sir Stafford Vaughn,
the pink-cheeked Englishman, also declared in plac-
ards and in public print that his presence there had 280 Cabbages and Kings
no international significance. He was a traveller
without guile. In fact (so he stated), he had not even
spoken with the president or been in his presence
since his arrival.
During this disturbance, White was preparing for
his homeward voyage in the steamship that was to
sail within two or three days. About noon, Keogh,
the restless, took his camera out with the hope of
speeding the lagging hours. The town was now as
quiet as if peace had never departed from her perch
on the red-tiled roofs.
About the middle of the afternoon, Keogh hurried
back to the hotel with something decidedly special
in his air. He retired to the little room where he de-
veloped his pictures.
Later on he came out to White on the balcony,
with a luminous, grim, predatory smile on his face.
"Do you know what that is?" he asked, holding
up a 4 x 5 photograph mounted on cardboard.
"Snap-shot of a senorita sitting in the sand — allit-
eration unintentional," guessed White, lazily.
"Wrong," said Keogh with shining eyes. "It's
a slung-shot. It's a can of dynamite. It's a gold Masters of Arts 281
mine. It's a sight-draft on your president man for
twenty thousand dollars — yes, sir — twenty thou-
sand this time, and no spoiling the picture. No
ethics of art in the way. Art! You with your smelly
little tubes! I've got you skinned to death with a
kodak. Take a look at that."
White took the picture in his hand, and gave a long
whistle.
"Jove!" he exclaimed, "but wouldn't that stir up
a row in town if you let it be seen. How in the world
did you get it, Billy?"
"You know that high wall around the president
man's back garden? I was up there trying to get
a bird's-eye of the town. I happened to notice a
chink in the wall where a stone and a lot of plaster
had slid out. Thinks I, I'll take a peep through to
see how Mr. President's cabbages are growing. The
first thing I saw was him and this Sir Englishman sit-
ting at a little table about twenty feet away. They
had the table all spread over with documents, and
they were hobnobbing over them as thick as two
pirates. 'Twas a nice corner of the garden, all
private and shady with palms and orange trees, and 282 Cabbages and Kings
they had a pail of champagne set by handy in the
grass. I knew then was the time for me to make my
big hit in Art. So I raised the machine up to the
crack, and pressed the button. Just as I did so them
old boys shook hands on the deal — you see they
took that way in the picture."
Keogh put on his coat and hat.
"What are you going to do with it?" asked White.
"Me," said Keogh in a hurt tone, "why, I'm going
to tie a pink ribbon to it and hang it on the what-not,
of course. I'm surprised at you. But while I'm out
you just try to figure out what ginger-cake potentate
would be most likely to want to buy this work of
art for his private collection — just to keep it out of
circulation."
The sunset was reddening the tops of the cocoanut
palms when Billy Keogh came back from Casa Mo-
rena. He nodded to the artist's questioning gaze;
and lay down on a cot with his hands under the back
of his head.
"I saw him. He paid the money like a little man.
They didn't want to let me in at first. I told 'em it
was important. Yes, that president man is on the Masters of Arts 283
plenty-able list. He's got a beautiful business system
about the way he uses his brains. All I had to do
was to hold up the photograph so he could see it, and
name the price. He just smiled, and walked over to
a safe and got the cash. Twenty one-thousand-dol-
lar brand-new United States Treasury notes he laid
on the table, like I'd pay out a dollar and a quarter.
Fine notes, too — they crackled with a sound like
burning the brush off a ten-acre lot."
"Let's try the feel of one," said White, curiously.
"I never saw a thousand-dollar bill." Keogh did
not immediately respond.
"Carry," he said, in an absent-minded way, "you
think a heap of your art, don't you?"
"More," said White, frankly, "than has been for
the financial good of myself and my friends."
"I thought you were a fool the other day," went on
Keogh, quietly, "and I'm not sure now that you
wasn't. But if you was, so am I. I've been in some
funny deals, Carry, but I've always managed to
scramble fair, and match my brains and capital
against the other fellow's. But when it comes to —
well, when you've got the other fellow cinched, and the 284 Cabbages and Kings
screws on him, and he's got to put up — why, it don't
strike me as being a man's game. They've got a name
for it, you know; it's — confound you, don't you un-
derstand. A fellow feels — it's something like that
blamed art of yours — he — well, I tore that photo-
graph up and laid the pieces on that stack of money
and shoved the whole business back across the table.
'Excuse me, Mr. Losada,' I said, 'but I guess I've
made a mistake in the price. You get the photo for
nothing.' Now, Carry, you get out the pencil, and
we'll do some more figuring. I'd like to save enough
out of our capital for you to have some fried sausages
in your joint when you get back to New York."
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Dicky
ThERE is little consecutiveness along the Spanish
Main. Things happen there intermittently. Even
Time seems to hang his scythe daily on the branch of
an orange tree while he takes a siesta and a cigarette. After the ineffectual revolt against the administra-
tion of President Losada, the country settled again
into quiet toleration of the abuses with which he had
been charged. In Coralio old political enemies went
arm-in-arm, lightly eschewing for the time all differ-
ences of opinion.
The failure of the art expedition did not stretch the
cat-footed Keogh upon his back. The ups and downs
of Fortune made smooth travelling for his nimble
steps. His blue pencil stub was at work again be-
#86 Cabbages and Kings
fore the smoke of the steamer on which White sailed
had cleared away from the horizon. He had but to
speak a word to Geddie to find his credit negotiable
for whatever goods he wanted from the store of
Brannigan & Company. On the same day on which
White arrived in New York Keogh, at the rear of a
train of five pack mules loaded with hardware and
cutlery, set his face toward the grim, interior moun-
tains. There the Indian tribes wash gold dust from
the auriferous streams; and when a market is brought
to them trading is brisk and muy bueno in the Cor-
dilleras.
In Coralio Time folded his wings and paced weari-
ly along his drowsy path. They who had most
cheered the torpid hours were gone. Clancy had
sailed on a Spanish barque for Colon, contemplating
a cut across the isthmus and then a further voyage to
end at Callao, where the fighting was said to be on.
Geddie, whose quiet and genial nature had once
served to mitigate the frequent dull reaction of lotus
eating, was now a home-man, happy with his bright
orchid, Paula, and never even dreaming of or regret-
ting the unsolved, sealed and monogramed Bottle,
Dicky 287
whose contents, now inconsiderable, were held safely
in the keeping of the sea.
Well may the Walrus, most discerning and eclectic
of beasts, place sealing-wax midway on his pro-
gramme of topics that fall pertinent and diverting
upon the ear.
Atwood was gone — he of the hospitable back
porch and ingenuous cunning. Dr. Gregg, with his
trepanning story smouldering within him, was a
whiskered volcano, always showing signs of immi-
nent eruption, and was not to be considered in the
ranks of those who might contribute to the ameliora-
tion of ennui. The new consul's note chimed with
the sad sea waves and the violent tropical greens —
he had not a bar of Scheherezade or of the Round
Table in his lute. Goodwin was employed with
large projects: what time he was loosed from them
found him at his home, where he loved to be. There-
fore it will be seen that there was a dearth of fellow-
ship and entertainment among the foreign contingent
of Coralio.
And then Dicky Maloney dropped down from the
clouds upon the town, and amused it.
288 Cabbages and Kings
Nobody knew where Dicky Maloney hailed from
or how he reached Coralio. He appeared there one
day; and that was all. He afterward said that he
came on the fruit steamer Thor; but an inspection
of the Thor's passenger list of that date was found to
be Maloneyless. Curiosity, however, soon perished;
and Dicky took his place among the odd fish cast up
by the Caribbean.
He was an active, devil-may-care, rollicking fellow
with an engaging gray eye, the most irresistible grin,
a rather dark or much sunburned complexion, and a
head of the fieriest red hair ever seen in that country.
Speaking the Spanish language as well as he spoke
English, and seeming always to have plenty of silver
in his pockets, it was not long before he was a wel-
come companion whithersoever he went. He had an
extreme fondness for vino bianco, and gained the rep-
utation of being able to drink more of it than any
three men in town. Everybody called him " Dicky ";
everybody cheered up at the sight of him — especially
the natives, to whom his marvellous red hair and his
free-and-easy style were a constant delight and envy.
Wherever you went in the town you would soon see Dicky 289
Dicky or hear his genial laugh, and find around him a
group of admirers who appreciated him both for his
good nature and the white wine he was always so
ready to buy.
A considerable amount of speculation was had con-
cerning the object of his sojourn there, until one day
he silenced this by opening a small shop for the sale
of tobacco, dulces and the handiwork of the interior
Indians — fibre-and-silk-woven goods, deerskin za-
patos and basketwork of tule reeds. Even then he
did not change his habits; for he was drinking and
playing cards half the day and night with the coman-
dante, the collector of customs, the Jefe Politico and
other gay dogs among the native officials.
One day Dicky saw Pasa, the daughter of Madama Ortiz, sitting in the side-door of the Hotel des los
Estranjeros. He stopped in his tracks, still, for the
first time in Coralio; and then he sped, swift as a deer,
to find Vasquez, a gilded native youth, to present him.
The young men had named Pasa "La Santita
Naranjadita." Naranjadita is a Spanish word for
a certain colour that you must go to more trouble to
describe in English. By saying "The little saint, £90 Cabbages and Kings
tinted the most beautiful-delicate-slightly-orange-
golden," you will approximate the description of
Madama Ortiz's daughter.
La Madama Ortiz sold rum in addition to other
liquors. Now, you must know that the rum expiates
whatever opprobrium attends upon the other com-
modities. For rum-making, mind you, is a gov-
ernment monopoly; and to keep a government
dispensary assures respectability if not preeminence.
Moreover, the saddest of precisians could find no
fault with the conduct of the shop. Customers
drank there in the lowest of spirits and fearsomely,
as in the shadow of the dead; for Madama's ancient
and vaunted lineage counteracted even the rum's
behest to be merry. For, was she not of the Iglesias,
who landed with Pizarro? And had not her deceased
husband been comisionado de caminos y puentes for
the district?
In the evenings Pasa sat by the window in the room
next to the one where they drank, and strummed
dreamily upon her guitar. And then, by twos and
threes, would come visiting young caballeros and oc-
cupy the prim line of chairs set against the wall of this Dicky 291
room. They were there to besiege the heart of "La
Santita." Their method (which is not proof against
intelligent competition) consisted of expanding the
chest, looking valorous, and consuming a gross or two
of cigarettes. Even saints delicately oranged pre-
fer to be wooed differently.
Dona Pasa would tide over the vast chasms of nico-
tinized silence with music from her guitar, while she
wondered if the romances she had read about gallant
and more — more contiguous cavaliers were all lies.
At somewhat regular intervals Madama would glide
in from the dispensary with a sort of drought-sug-
gesting gleam in her eye, and there would be a
rustling of stiffly-starched white trousers as one of
the caballeros would propose an adjournment to
the bar.
That Dicky Maloney would, sooner or later, ex-
plore this field was a thing to be foreseen. There
were few doors in Coralio into which his red head had
not been poked.
In an incredibly short space of time after his first
sight of her he was there, seated close beside her rock-
ing chair. There were no back-against-the-wall 292 Cabbages and Kings
poses in Dicky's theory of wooing. His plan of sub-
jection was an attack at close range. To carry the
fortress with one concentrated, ardent, eloquent, ir-
resistible escalade — that was Dicky's way.
Pasa was descended from the proudest Spanish
families in the country. Moreover, she had had
unusual advantages. Two years in a New Orleans
school had elevated her ambitions and fitted her for
a fate above the ordinary maidens of her native
land. And yet here she succumbed to the first red-
haired scamp with a glib tongue and a charming
smile that came along and courted her properly.
Very soon Dicky took her to the little church on the
corner of the plaza, and "Mrs. Maloney" was added
to her string of distinguished names.
And it was her fate to sit, with her patient, saintly
eyes and figure like a bisque Psyche, behind the se-
questered counter of the little shop, while Dicky drank
and philandered with his frivolous acquaintances.
The women, with their naturally fine instinct, saw
a chance for vivisection, and delicately taunted her
with his habits. She turned upon them in a beauti-
ful, steady blaze of sorrowful contempt.
Dicky . 293
"You meat-cows," she said, in her level, crystal-
clear tones; "you know nothing of a man. Your
men are maromeros. They are fit only to roll ciga-
rettes in the shade until the sun strikes and shrivels
them up. They drone in your hammocks and you
comb their hair and feed them with fresh fruit. My
man is of no such blood. Let him drink of the wine.
When he has taken sufficient of it to drown one of
your flaccitos he will come home to me more of a man
than one thousand of your pobrecitos. My hair he
smooths and braids; to me he sings; he himself re-
moves my zapatos, and there, there, upon each instep
leaves a kiss. He holds — Oh, you will never
understand! Blind ones who have never known a
man."
Sometimes mysterious things happened at night
about Dicky's shop. While the front of it was dark,
in the little room back of it Dicky and a few of his
friends would sit about a table carrying on some kind
of very quiet negocios until quite late. Finally he
would let them out the front door very carefully, and
go upstairs to his little saint. These visitors were
generally conspirator-like men with dark clothes and 294 Cabbages and Kings
hats. Of course, these dark doings were noticed after a while, and talked about.
Dicky seemed to care nothing at all for the society
of the alien residents of the town. He avoided Good-
win, and his skilful escape from the trepanning story
of Dr. Gregg is still referred to, in Coralio, as a mas-
terpiece of lightning diplomacy.
Many letters arrived, addressed to "Mr. Dicky
Maloney," or " Senor Dickee Maloney," to the con-
siderable pride of Pasa. That so many people should
desire to write to him only confirmed her own suspi-
cion that the light from his red head shone around the
world. As to their contents she never felt curiosity.
There was a wife for you!
The one mistake Dicky made in Coralio was to run
out of money at the wrong time. Where his money
came from was a puzzle, for the sales of his shop were
next to nothing, but that source failed, and at a pe-
culiarly unfortunate time. It was when the coman-
dante, Don Senor el Coronel Encarnacion Rios,
looked upon the little saint seated in the shop and
felt his heart go pitapat.
The comandante, who was versed in all the intri-
Dicky 295
cate arts of gallantry, first delicately hinted at his sen-
timents by donning his dress uniform and strutting
up and down fiercely before her window. Pasa,
glancing demurely with her saintly eyes, instantly per-
ceived his resemblance to her parrot, Chichi, and was
diverted to the extent of a smile. The comandante
saw the smile, which was not intended for him. Con-
vinced of an impression made, he entered the shop,
confidently, and advanced to open compliment. Pasa
froze; he pranced; she flamed royally; he was charmed
to injudicious persistence; she commanded him to
leave the shop; he tried to capture her hand, and —
Dicky entered, smiling broadly, full of white wine and
the devil.
He spent five minutes in punishing the comandante
scientifically and carefully, so that the pain might be
prolonged as far as possible. At the end of that time
he pitched the rash wooer out the door upon the
stones of the street, senseless.
A barefooted policeman who had been watching
the affair from across the street blew a whistle. A
squad of four soldiers came running from the cuartel around the corner When they saw that the offender 296 Cabbages and Kings
was Dicky, they stopped, and blew more whistles,
which brought out reinforcements of eight. Deem-
ing the odds against them sufficiently reduced, the
military advanced upon the disturber.
Dicky, being thoroughly imbued with the martial
spirit, stooped and drew the comandante's sword,
which was girded about him, and charged his foe.
He chased the standing army four squares, playfully
prodding its squealing rear and hacking at its
ginger-coloured heels.
But he was not so successful with the civic authori-
ties. Six muscular, nimble policemen overpowered
him and conveyed him, triumphantly but warily, to
jail. "El Diablo Colorado" they dubbed him, and
derided the military for its defeat.
Dicky, with the rest of the prisoners, could look out
through the barred door at the grass of the little plaza,
at a row of orange trees and the red tile roofs and
'dobe walls of a line of insignificant stores.
At sunset along a path across this plaza came a
melancholy procession of sad-faced women bearing
plantains, cassaba, bread and fruit — each coming
with food to some wretch behind those bars to whom Dicky 297
she still clung and furnished the means of life. Twice
a day — morning and evening — they were permitted
to come. Water was furnished to her compulsory
guests by the republic, but no food.
That evening Dicky's name was called by the sen-
try, and he stepped before the bars of the door. There
stood his little saint, a black mantilla draped about
her head and shoulders, her face like glorified melan-
choly, her clear eyes gazing longingly at him as if they
might draw him between the bars to her. She
brought a chicken, some oranges, dulces and a loaf of
white bread. A soldier inspected the food, and passed
it in to Dicky. Pasa spoke calmly, as she always
did, briefly, in her thrilling, flute-like tones. "Angel of my life," she said, "let it not be long that thou
art away from me. Thou knowest that life is not a
thing to be endured with thou not at my side. Tell
me if I can do aught in this matter. If not, I will wait — a little while. I come again in the morning."
Dicky, with his shoes removed so as not to disturb
his fellow prisoners, tramped the floor of the jail half
the night condemning his lack of money and the
cause of it — whatever that might have been. He 298 Cabbages and Kings
knew very well that money would have bought his re-
lease at once.
For two days succeeding Pasa came at the appoint-
ed times and brought him food. He eagerly inquired
each time if a letter or package had come for him, and
she mournfully shook her head.
On the morning of the third day she brought only a
small loaf of bread. There were dark circles under
her eyes. She seemed as calm as ever.
"By jingo," said Dicky, who seemed to speak in
English or Spanish as the whim seized him, "this is
dry provender, muchachita. Is this the best you can
dig up for a fellow?"
Pasa looked at him as a mother looks at a beloved
but capricious babe.
"Think better of it," she said, in a low voice;
"since for the next meal there will be nothing. The
last centavo is spent." She pressed closer against the
grating.
"Sell the goods in the shop — take anything for
them.99
"Have I not tried? Did I not offer them for one-
tenth their cost? Not even one peso would any one Dicky 299
give. There is not one real in this town to assist
Dickee Malonee."
Dick clenched his teeth grimly. "That's the co-
mandante," he growled. "He's responsible for that
sentiment. Wait, oh, wait till the cards are all out."
Pasa lowered her voice to almost a whisper. "And,
listen, heart of my heart," she said, "I have endeav-
oured to be brave, but I cannot live without thee.
Three days now—"
Dicky caught a faint gleam of steel from the folds
of her mantilla. For once she looked in his face and
saw it without a smile, stern, menacing and purpose-
ful. Then he suddenly raised his hand and his smile
came back like a gleam of sunshine. The hoarse sig-
nal of an incoming steamer's siren sounded in the har-
bour. Dicky called to the sentry who was pacing be-
fore the door: "What steamer comes?"
"The Catarina ."
u Of the Vesuvius line?"
"Without doubt, of that line."
"Go you, picarilla," said Dicky joyously to Pasa,
"to the American consul. Tell him I wish to speak
with him. See that he comes at once. And look you! let 300 Cabbages and Kings
me see a different look in those eyes, for I promise your head shall rest upon this arm to-night."
It was an hour before the consul came. He held
his green umbrella under his arm, and mopped his
forehead impatiently.
"Now, see here, Maloney," he began, captiously,
"you fellows seem to think you can cut up any kind
of row, and expect me to pull you out of it. I'm
neither the War Department nor a gold mine. This
country has its laws, you know, and there's one against
pounding the senses out of the regular army. You
Irish are forever getting into trouble. I don't see
what I can do. Anything like tobacco, now, to make
you comfortable — or newspapers —"
"Son of Eli," interrupted Dicky, gravely, "you
haven't changed an iota. That is almost a duplicate
of the speech you made when old Koen's donkeys and
geese got into the chapel loft, and the culprits wanted
to hide in your room."
"Oh, heavens!" exclaimed the consul, hurriedly
adjusting his spectacles. "Are you a Yale man, too?
Were you in that crowd? I don't seem to remember
any one with red — any one named Maloney. Such a Dicky 301
lot of college men seem to have misused their advan-
tages. One of the best mathematicians of the class of
'91 is selling lottery tickets in Belize. A Cornell man
dropped off here last month. He was second steward
on a guano boat. I'll write to the department if you
like, Maloney. Or if there's any tobacco, or news-
pa —"
"There's nothing," interrupted Dicky, shortly,
"but this. You go tell the captain of the Catarina
that Dicky Maloney wants to see him as soon as
he can conveniently come. Tell him where I am.
Hurry. That's all."
The consul, glad to be let off so easily, hurried
away. The captain of the Catarina, a stout man,
Sicilian born, soon appeared, shoving, with little cere-
mony, through the guards to the jail door. The
Vesuvius Fruit Company had a habit of doing things
that way in Anchuria.
"I am exceeding sorry — exceeding sorry," said
the captain, "to see this occur. I place myself at
your service, Mr. Maloney. What you need shall
be furnished. Whatever you say shall be done."
Dicky looked at him unsmilingly. His red hair 302 Cabbages and Kings
could not detract from his attitude of severe dignity
as he stood, tall and calm, with his now grim mouth
forming a horizontal line.
"Captain De Lucco, I believe I still have funds in
the hands of your company — ample and personal
funds. I ordered a remittance last week. The
money has not arrived. You know what is needed in
this game. Money and money and more money.
Why has it not been sent?"
"By the Cristobal," replied De Lucco, gesticulat-
ing, "it was despatched. Where is the Cristobal?
Off Cape Antonio I spoke her with a broken shaft.
A tramp coaster was towing her back to New Orleans.
I brought money ashore thinking your need for it
might not withstand delay. In this envelope is one
thousand dollars. There is more if you need it, Mr.
Maloney."
"For the present it will suffice," said Dicky, soft-
ening as he crinkled the envelope and looked down at
the half-inch thickness of smooth, dingy bills.
"The long green!" he said, gently, with a new rev-
erence in his gaze. "Is there anything it will not buy,
Captain?"
Dicky 303
"I had three friends," replied De Lucco, who was
a bit of a philosopher, "who had money. One of
them speculated in stocks and made ten million; an-
other is in heaven, and the third married a poor girl
whom he loved."
"The answer, then," said Dicky, "is held by the
Almighty, Wall Street and Cupid. So, the question
remains."
"This," queried the captain, including Dicky's
surroundings in a significant gesture of his hand, "is it
— it is not — it is not connected with the business of
your little shop? There is no failure in your plans?"
"No, no," said Dicky. "This is merely the result
of a little private affair of mine, a digression from the
regular line of business. They say for a complete life
a man must know poverty, love and war. But they
don't go well together, capitdn mio. No; there is no
failure in my business. The little shop is doing
very well."
When the captain had departed Dicky called the
sergeant of the jail squad and asked:
"Am I preso by the military or by the civil author-
ity?"
804 Cabbages and Kings
"Surely there is no martial law in effect now,
senor."
"Bueno. Now go or send to the alcalde, the Juez
de la Paz and the Jefe de los Policios. Tell them I
am prepared at once to satisfy the demands of justice.
A folded bill of the "long green" slid into the ser-
geant's hand.
Then Dicky's smile came back again, for he knew
that the hours of his captivity were numbered; and he
hummed, in time with the sentry's tread:
"They're hanging men and women now,
For lacking of the green."
So, that night Dicky sat by the window of the room
over his shop and his little saint sat close by, working
at something silken and dainty. Dicky was thought-
ful and grave. His red hair was in an unusual state
of disorder. Pasa's fingers often ached to smooth
and arrange it, but Dicky would never allow it. He
was poring, to-night, over a great litter of maps
and books and papers on his table until that per-
pendicular line came between his brows that always
distressed Pasa. Presently she went and brought Dicky 305
his hat, and stood with it until he looked up, in-
quiringly.
"It is sad for you here," she explained. "Go out
and drink vino bianco. Come back when you get
that smile you used to wear. That is what I wish to
see.
Dicky laughed and threw down his papers. "The
vino bianco stage is past. It has served its turn.
Perhaps, after all, there was less entered my mouth
and more my ears than people thought. But, there
will be no more maps or frowns to-night. I promise
you that. Come."
They sat upon a reed silleta at the window and
watched the quivering gleams from the lights of the
Catarina reflected in the harbour.
Presently Pasa rippled out one of her infrequent
chirrups of audible laughter.
"I was thinking," she began, anticipating Dicky's
question, "of the foolish things girls have in their
minds. Because I went to school in the States I used
to have ambitions. Nothing less than to be the pres-
ident's wife would satisfy me. And, look, thou red
picaroon, to what obscure fate thou hast stolen me!"
306 . Cabbages and Kings
"Don't give up hope," said Dicky, smiling. "More than one Irishman has been the ruler of a South
American country. There was a dictator of Chili
named O'Higgins. Why not a President Maloney,
of Anchuria? Say the word, santita mia, and we'll
make the race."
"No, no, no, thou red-haired, reckless one!"
sighed Pasa; "I am content" — she laid her head
against his arm — "here."
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Rouge et Noir
It has been indicated that disaffection followed
the elevation of Losada to the presidency. This
feeling continued to grow. Throughout the en-
tire republic there seemed to be a spirit of silent,
sullen discontent. Even the old Liberal party to
which Goodwin, Zavalla and other patriots had lent
their aid was disappointed. Losada had failed to
become a popular idol. Fresh taxes, fresh import
duties and, more than all, his tolerance of the out-
rageous oppression of citizens by the military had
rendered him the most obnoxious president since the
despicable Alforan. The majority of his own cabi-
net were out of sympathy with him. The army,
which he had courted by giving it license to 308 Cabbages and Kings
tyrannize, had been his main, and thus far adequate
support.
But the most impolitic of the administration's
moves had been when it antagonized the Vesuvius
Fruit Company, an organization plying twelve steam-
ers and with a cash capital somewhat larger than
Anchuria's surplus and debt combined.
Reasonably, an established concern like the Vesu-
vius would become irritated at having a small, retail
republic with no rating at all attempt to squeeze it.
So, when the government proxies applied for a sub-
sidy they encountered a polite refusal. The presi-
dent at once retaliated by clapping an export duty
of one real per bunch on bananas — a thing unprece-
dented in fruit-growing countries. The Vesuvius
Company had invested large sums in wharves and
plantations along the Anchurian coast, their agents
had erected fine homes in the towns where they had
their headquarters, and heretofore had worked with
the republic in good-will and with advantage to both.
It would lose an immense sum if compelled to move
out. The selling price of bananas from Vera Cruz
to Trinidad was three reals per bunch. This new Rouge et Noir 309
duty of one real would have ruined the fruit growers
in Anchuria and have seriously discommoded the
Vesuvius Company had it declined to pay it. But
for some reason, the Vesuvius continued to buy An-
churian fruit, paying four reals for it; and not suffer-
ing the growers to bear the loss.
This apparent victory deceived His Excellency;
and he began to hunger for more of it. He sent an
emissary to request a conference with a representa-
tive of the fruit company. The Vesuvius sent Mr.
Franzoni, a little, stout, cheerful man, always cool,
and whistling airs from Verdi's operas. Senor Espi-
rition, of the office of the Minister of Finance, at-
tempted the sandbagging in behalf of Anchuria.
The meeting took place in the cabin of the Salvador,
of the Vesuvius line.
Senor Espirition opened negotiations by announc-
ing that the government contemplated the building
of a railroad to skirt the alluvial coast lands. After
touching upon the benefits such a road would
confer upon the interests of the Vesuvius, he
reached the definite suggestion that a contribution
to the road's expenses of, say, fifty thousand pesos 310 Cabbages and Kings
would not be more than an equivalent to benefits
received.
Mr. Franzoni denied that his company would re-
ceive any benefits from a contemplated road. As
its representative he must decline to contribute fifty
thousand pesos. But he would assume the respon-
sibility of offering twenty-five.
Did Senor Espirition understand Senor Franzoni
to mean twenty-five thousand pesos?
By no means. Twenty-five pesos. And in silver;
not in gold.
"Your offer insults my government,'' cried Senor
Espirition, rising, with indignation.
"Then," said Mr. Franzoni, in warning tone,
"we will change it."
The offer was never changed. Could Mr. Fran-
zoni have meant the government?
This was the state of affairs in Anchuria when
the winter season opened at Coralio at the end of the
second year of Losada's administration. So, when
the government and society made its annual exodus
to the seashore it was evident that the presidential
advent would not be celebrated by unlimited rejoic-
Rouge el Noir 311
ing. The tenth of November was the day set for the
entrance into Coralio of the gay company from the
capital. A narrow-gauge railroad runs twenty miles
into the interior from Solitas. The government
party travels by carriage from San Mateo to this
road's terminal point, and proceeds by train to Soli-
tas. From here they march in grand procession to
Coralio where, on the day of their coming, festivities
and ceremonies abound. But this season saw an
ominous dawning of the tenth of November.
Although the rainy season was over, the day seemed
to hark back to reeking June. A fine drizzle of rain
fell all during the forenoon. The procession entered
Coralio amid a strange silence.
President Losada was an elderly man, grizzly
bearded, with a considerable ratio of Indian blood
revealed in his cinnamon complexion. His carriage
headed the procession, surrounded and guarded by
Captain Cruz and his famous troop of one hundred
light horse "El Ciento Huilando." Colonel Rocas
followed, with a regiment of the regular army.
The president's sharp, beady eyes glanced about
him for the expected demonstration of welcome; but 1
312 Cabbages and Kings
he faced a stolid, indifferent array of citizens. Sight-
seers the Anchurians are by birth and habit, and they
turned out to their last able-bodied unit to witness
the scene; but they maintained an accusive silence.
They crowded the streets to the very wheel ruts; they
covered the red tile roofs to the eaves, but there was
never a "viva" from them. No wreaths of palm
and lemon branches or gorgeous strings of paper
roses hung from the windows and balconies as was
the custom. There was an apathy, a dull, dissent-
ing disapprobation, that was the more ominous be-
cause it puzzled. No one feared an outburst, a
revolt of the discontents, for they had no leader.
The president and those loyal to him had never
even heard whispered a name among them cap-
able of crystallizing the dissatisfaction into op-
position. No, there could be no danger. The
people always procured a new idol before they
destroyed an old one.
At length, after a prodigious galloping and cur-
vetting of red-sashed majors, gold-laced colonels and
epauletted generals, the procession formed for its
annual progress down the Calle Grande to the Casa i
Rouge et Noir 313
Morena, where the ceremony of welcome to the
visiting president always took place.
The Swiss band led the line of march. After it
pranced the local comandante, mounted, and a de-
tachment of his troops. Next came a carriage with
four members of the cabinet, conspicuous among
them the Minister of War, old General Pilar, with his
white moustache and his soldierly bearing. Then
the president's vehicle, containing also the Ministers
of Finance and State; and surrounded by Captain
Cruz's light horse formed in a close double file of
fours. Following them, the rest of the officials of
state, the judges and distinguished military and
social ornaments of public and private life.
As the band struck up, and the movement began,
like a bird of ill-omen the Valhalla, the swiftest steam-
ship of the Vesuvius line, glided into the harbour
in plain view of the president and his train. Of
course, there was nothing menacing about its arrival
— a business firm does not go to war with a nation —
but it reminded Senor Espirition and others in those
carriages that the Vesuvius Fruit Company was un-
doubtedly carrying something up its sleeve for them.
314 Cabbages and Kings
By the time the van of the procession had reached
the government building, Captain Cronin, of the
Valhalla, and Mr. Vincenti, member of the Vesuvius
Company, had landed and were pushing their way,
bluff, hearty and nonchalant, through the crowd
on the narrow sidewalk. Clad in white linen, big,
debonair, with an air of good-humoured authority,
they made conspicuous figures among the dark mass
of unimposing Anchurians, as they penetrated to
within a few yards of the steps of the Casa Morena.
Looking easily above the heads of the crowd, they
perceived another that towered above the under-
sized natives. It was the fiery poll of Dicky Maloney
against the wall close by the lower step; and his
broad, seductive grin showed that he recognized
their presence.
Dicky had attired himself becomingly for the fes-
tive occasion in a well-fitting black suit. Pasa was
close by his side, her head covered with the ubiquit-
ous black mantilla.
Mr. Vincenti looked at her attentively.
"Botticelli's Madonna," he remarked, gravely. "I
wonder when she got into the game. I don't like Rouge et Noir 315
his getting tangled with the women. I hoped he
would keep away from them."
Captain Cronin's laugh almost drew attention
from the parade.
"With that head of hair! Keep away from the
women! And a Maloney! Hasn't he got a license?
But, nonsense aside, what do you think of the pros-
pects? It's a species of filibustering out of my line."
Vincenti glanced again at Dicky's head and smiled.
"Rouge et noir," he said. "There you have it.
Make your play, gentlemen. Our money is on the
red."
"The lad's game," said Cronin, with a commend-
ing look at the tall, easy figure by the steps. "But
'tis all like fly-by-night theatricals to me. The talk's
bigger than the stage; there's a smell of gasoline in
the air, and they're their own audience and scene-
shifters."
They ceased talking, for General Pilar had de-
scended from the first carriage and had taken his
stand upon the top step of Casa Morena. As the
oldest member of the cabinet, custom had decreed
that he should make the address of welcome, present-
316 Cabbages and Kings
ing the keys of the official residence to the president at its close.
General Pilar was one of the most distinguished
citizens of the republic. Hero of three wars and in-
numerable revolutions, he was an honoured guest
at European courts and camps. An eloquent speaker
and a friend to the people, he represented the highest
type of the Anchurians.
Holding in his hand the gilt keys of Casa Morena,
he began his address in a historical form, touching
upon each administration and the advance of civili-
zation and prosperity from the first dim striving after
liberty down to present times. Arriving at the
regime of President Losada, at which point, accord-
ing to precedent, he should have delivered a eulogy
upon its wise conduct and the happiness of the peo-
ple, General Pilar paused. Then he silently held
up the bunch of keys high above his head, with his
eyes closely regarding it. The ribbon with which
they were bound fluttered in the breeze.
"It still blows," cried the speaker, exultantly.
"Citizens of Anchuria, give thanks to the saints this
night that our air is still free."
Rouge et Noir 317
Thus disposing of Losada's administration, he
abruptly reverted to that of Olivarra, Anchuria's
most popular ruler. Olivarra had been assassinated
nine years before while in the prime of life and useful-
ness. A faction of the Liberal party led by Losada
himself had been accused of the deed. Whether
guilty or not, it was eight years before the ambitious
and scheming Losada had gained his goal.
Upon this theme General Pilar's eloquence was
loosed. He drew the picture of the beneficent Oli-
varra with a loving hand. He reminded the people
of the peace, the security and the happiness they
had enjoyed during that period. He recalled in
vivid detail and with significant contrast the last
winter sojourn of President Olivarra in Coralio,
when his appearance at their fiestas was the signal for
thundering vivas of love and approbation.
The first public expression of sentiment from the
people that day followed. A low, sustained murmur
went among them like the surf rolling along the
shore.
"Ten dollars to a dinner at the Saint Charles,"
remarked Mr. Vincenti, "that rouge wins."
318 Cabbages and Kings
"1 never bet against my own interests," said
Captain Cronin, lighting a cigar. "Long-winded
old boy, for his age. What's he talking about?"
"My Spanish," replied Vincenti, "runs about ten
words to the minute; his is something around two
hundred. Whatever he's saying, he's getting them
warmed up."
"Friends and brothers," General Pilar was saying,
"could I reach out my hand this day across the
lamentable silence of the grave to Olivarra 'the
Good,' to the ruler who was one of you, whose tears
fell when you sorrowed, and whose smile followed
your joy — I would bring him back to you, but —
Olivarra is dead — dead at the hands of a craven
assassin!"
The speaker turned and gazed boldly into the car-
riage of the president. His arm remained extended
aloft as if to sustain his peroration. The president
was listening, aghast, at this remarkable address of
welcome. He was sunk back upon his seat, trem-
bling with rage and dumb surprise, his dark hands
tightly gripping the carriage cushions.
Half rising, he extended one arm toward the Rouge et Noir 319
speaker, and shouted a harsh command at Captain
Cruz. The leader of the "Flying Hundred" sat his
horse, immovable, with folded arms, giving no sign
of having heard. Losada sank back again, his dark
features distinctly paling.
"Who says that Olivarra is dead ?" suddenly cried
the speaker, his voice, old as he was, sounding like
a battle trumpet. "His body lies in the grave, but
to the people he loved he has bequeathed his spirit — yes, more — his learning, his courage, his kindness — yes, more — his youth, his image — people of
Anchuria, have you forgotten Ramon, the son of
Olivarra?"
Cronin and Vincenti, watching closely, saw Dicky
Maloney suddenly raise his hat, tear off his shock of
red hair, leap up the steps and stand at the side of
General Pilar. The Minister of War laid his arm
across the young man's shoulders. All who had
known President Olivarra saw again his same lion-
like pose, the same frank, undaunted expression, the
same high forehead with the peculiar line of the
clustering, crisp black hair.
General Pilar was an experienced orator. He 320 Cabbages and Kings
seized the moment of breathless silence that pre-
ceded the storm.
"Citizens of Anchuria," he trumpeted, holding
aloft the keys to Casa Morena, "I am here to deliver
these keys — the keys to your homes and liberty —
to your chosen president. Shall I deliver them to
Enrico Olivarra's assassin, or to his son?"
"Olivarra! Olivarra!" the crowd shrieked and
howled. All vociferated the magic name — men,
women, children and the parrots.
And the enthusiasm was not confined to the blood
of the plebs. Colonel Rocas ascended the steps and
laid his sword theatrically at young Ramon Olivarra's
feet. Four members of the cabinet embraced him.
Captain Cruz gave a command, and twenty of El
Ciento Huilando dismounted and arranged them-
selves in a cordon about the steps of Casa Morena.
But Ramon Olivarra seized that moment to prove
himself a born genius and politician. He waved
those soldiers aside, and descended the steps to the
street. There, without losing his dignity or the dis-
tinguished elegance that the loss of his red hair
brought him, he took the proletariat to his bosom — Rouge et Noir 321
the barefooted, the dirty, Indians, Caribs, babies,
beggars, old, young, saints, soldiers and sinners —
he missed none of them.
While this act of the drama was being presented,
the scene shifters had been busy at the duties that
had been assigned to them. Two of Cruz's dragoons
had seized the bridle reins of Losada's horses; others
formed a close guard around the carriage; and they
galloped off with the tyrant and his two unpopular
Ministers. No doubt a place had been prepared for
them. There are a number of well-barred stone
apartments in Coralio.
"Rouge wins," said Mr. Vincenti, calmly light-
ing another cigar.
Captain Cronin had been intently watching the
vicinity of the stone steps for some time.
"Good boy!" he exclaimed suddenly, as if relieved.
"I wondered if he was going to forget his Kathleen
Mavourneen."
Young Olivarra had reascended the steps and
spoken a few words to General Pilar. Then that
distinguished veteran descended to the ground and
approached Pasa, who still stood, wonder-eyed, $22 Cabbages and Kings
where Dicky had left her. With his plumed hat in
his hand, and his medals and decorations shining on
his breast, the general spoke to her and gave her his
arm, and they went up the stone steps of the Casa
Morena together. And then Ramon Olivarra stepped
forward and took both her hands before all the
people.
And while the cheering was breaking out afresh
everywhere, Captain Cronin and Mr. Vincenti turned
and walked back toward the shore where the gig was
waiting for them.
"There'll be another *presidente proclamada' in
the morning," said Mr. Vincenti, musingly. "As a
rule they are not as reliable as the elected ones, but
this youngster seems to have some good stuff in him.
He planned and manoeuvred the entire campaign.
Olivarra's widow, you know, was wealthy. After her
husband was assassinated she went to the States, and
educated her son at Yale. The Vesuvius Company
hunted him up, and backed him in the little game."
"It's a glorious thing," said Cronin, half jestingly,
"to be able to discharge a government, and insert one
of your own choosing, in these days."
Rouge et Noir 323
"Oh, it is only a matter of business," said Vincenti,
stopping and offering the stump of his cigar to a mon-
key that swung down from a lime tree; "and that is
what moves the world of to-day. That extra real
on the price of bananas had to go. We took the shortest way of removing it."
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Two Recalls
ThERE remains three duties to be performed be-
fore the curtain falls upon the patched comedy. Two
have been promised: the third is no less obligatory.
It was set forth in the programme of this tropic
vaudeville that it would be made known why Shorty
O'Day, of the Columbia Detective Agency, lost his
position. Also that Smith should come again to tell
us what mystery he followed that night on the shores
of Anchuria when he strewed so many cigar stumps
around the cocoanut palm during his lonely night
vigil on the beach. These things were promised; but
a bigger thing yet remains to be accomplished — the
clearing up of a seeming wrong that has been done
according to the array of chronicled facts (truthfully Two Recalls 325
set forth) that have been presented. And one voice,
speaking, shall do these three things.
Two men sat on a stringer of a North River pier in
the City of New York. A steamer from the tropics
had begun to unload bananas and oranges on the pier.
Now and then a banana or two would fall from an
overripe bunch, and one of the two men would sham-
ble forward, seize the fruit and return to share it with
his companion.
One of the men was in the ultimate stage of deteri-
oration. As far as rain and wind and sun could
wreck the garments he wore, it had been done. In
his person the ravages of drink were as plainly visible.
And yet, upon his high-bridged, rubicund nose was
jauntily perched a pair of shining and flawless gold-
rimmed glasses.
The other man was not so far gone upon the de-
scending Highway of the Incompetents. Truly, the
flower of his manhood had gone to seed — seed that,
perhaps, no soil might sprout. But there were still
cross-cuts along where he travelled through which he
might yet regain the pathway of usefulness without
disturbing the slumbering Miracles. This man was 326 Cabbages and Kings
short and compactly built. He had an oblique, dead
eye, like that of a sting-ray, and the moustache of a
cocktail mixer. We know the eye and the moustache;
we know that Smith of the luxurious yacht, the gor-
geous raiment, the mysterious mission, the magic dis-
appearance, has come again, though shorn of the ac-
cessories of his former state.
At his third banana, the man with the nose glasses
spat it from him with a shudder.
"Deuce take all fruit!" he remarked, in a patrician
tone of disgust. "I lived for two years where these
things grow. The memory of their taste lingers with
you. The oranges are not so bad. Just see if you
can gather a couple of them, O'Day, when the next
broken crate comes up."
"Did you live down with the monkeys?" asked
the other, made tepidly garrulous by the sunshine and
the alleviating meal of juicy fruit. "I was down
there, once myself. But only for a few hours. That
was when I was with the Columbia Detective Agency.
The monkey people did me up. I'd have my
job yet if it hadn't been for them. I'll tell you
about it.
Two Recalls 327
"One day the chief sent a note around to the office
that read: 'Send O'Day here at once for a big piece
of business.' I was the crack detective of the agency
at that time. They always handed me the big jobs.
The address the chief wrote from was down in the
Wall Street district.
"When I got there I found him in a private office
with a lot of directors who were looking pretty fuzzy.
They stated the case. The president of the Republic
Insurance Company had skipped with about a tenth
of a million dollars in cash. The directors wanted
him back pretty bad, but they wanted the money
worse. They said they needed it. They had traced
the old gent's movements to where he boarded a
tramp fruit steamer bound for South America that
same morning with his daughter and a big gripsack
— all the family he had. ,
"One of the directors had his steam yacht coaled
and with steam up, ready for a trip; and he turned her
over to me, cart blongsh. In four hours I was on board
of her, and hot on the trail of the fruit tub. I had
a pretty good idea where old Wahrfield — that was
his name, J. Churchill Wahrfield — would head for. 328 Cabbages and Kings
At that time we had a treaty with about every foreign
country except Belgium and that banana republic,
Anchuria. There wasn't a photo of old Wahrfield
to be had in New York — he had been foxy there —
but I had his description. And besides, the lady with
him would be a dead-give-away anywhere. She was
one of the high-flyers in Society — not the kind that
have their pictures in the Sunday papers — but the
real sort that open chrysanthemum shows and chris-
ten battleships.
"Well, sir, we never got a sight of that fruit tub
on the road. The ocean is a pretty big place; and
I guess we took different paths across it. But we
kept going toward this Anchuria, where the fruiter
was bound for.
"We struck the monkey coast one afternoon about
four. There was a ratty-looking steamer off shore
taking on bananas. The monkeys were loading her
up with big barges. It might be the one the old man
had taken, and it might not. I went ashore to look
around. The scenery was pretty good. I never saw
any finer on the New York stage. I struck an Ameri-
can on shore, a big, cool chap, standing around with Two Recalls 329
the monkeys. He showed me the consul's office. The
consul was a nice young fellow. He said the fruiter
was the Karlsefin, running generally to New Orleans,
but took her last cargo to New York. Then I was
sure my people were on board, although everybody
told me that no passengers had landed. I didn't
think they would land until after dark, for they might
have been shy about it on account of seeing that
yacht of mine hanging around. So, all I had to do
was to wait and nab 'em when they came ashore. I
couldn't arrest old Wahrfield without extradition pa-
pers, but my play was to get the cash. They gener-
ally give up if you strike 'em when they're tired and
rattled and short on nerve.
"After dark I sat under a cocoanut tree on the
beach for a while, and then I walked around and in-
vestigated that town some, and it was enough to give
you the lions. If a man could stay in New York and
be honest, he'd better do it than to hit that monkey
town with a million.
"Dinky little mud houses; grass over your shoe
tops in the streets; ladies in low-neck-and-short-
sleeves walking around smoking cigars; tree frogs 330 Cabbages and Kings
rattling like a hose cart going to a ten blow; big
mountains dropping gravel in the back yards, and the
sea licking the paint off in front — no, sir — a man
had better be in God's country living on free lunch
than there.
"The main street ran along the beach, and I walked
down it, and then turned up a kind of lane where the
houses were made of poles and straw. I wanted to
see what the monkeys did when they weren't climbing
cocoanut trees. The very first shack I looked in I
saw my people. They must have come ashore while
I was promenading. A man about fifty, smooth face,
heavy eyebrows, dressed in black broadcloth, looking
like he was just about to say, 'Can any little boy in
the Sunday school answer that?' He was freezing
on to a grip that weighed like a dozen gold bricks,
and a swell girl — a regular peach, with a Fifth Ave-
nue cut — was sitting on a wooden chair. An old black
woman was fixing some coffee and beans on a table.
The light they had come from a lantern hung on a
nail. I went and stood in the door, and they looked
at me, and I said:
"'Mr. Wahrfield, you are my prisoner. I hope, Two Recalls 331
for the lady's sake, you will take the matter sensibly.
You know why I want you.'
"' Who are you?' says the old gent.
"'O'Day,' says I, 'of the Columbia Detective
Agency. And now, sir, let me give you a piece of
good advice. You go back and take your medicine
like a man. Hand 'em back the boodle; and maybe
they'll let you off light. Go back easy, and I'll put in
a word for you. I'll give you five minutes to decide.' I pulled out my watch and waited.
"Then the young lady chipped in. She was one of
the genuine high-steppers. You could tell by the way
her clothes fit and the style she had that Fifth Avenue
was made for her.
"'Come inside,' she says. 'Don't stand in the
door and disturb the whole street with that suit of
clothes. Now, what is it you want?'
"' Three minutes gone,' I said. 'I'll tell you again
while the other two tick off.
"' You'll admit being the president of the Repub-
lic, won't you?'
"'I am,' says he.
"'Well, then,' says I, 'it ought to be plain to you. 332 Cabbages and Kings
f
Wanted, in New York, J. Churchill Wahrfield, presi-
dent of the Republic Insurance Company.
Also the funds belonging to said company, now
in that grip, in the unlawful possession of said J.
Churchill Wahrfield.'
"' Oh-h-h-h!' says the young lady, as if she was
thinking,'you want to take us back to New York?'
'"To take Mr. Wahrfield. There's no charge
against you, miss. There'll be no objection, of
course, to your returning with your father.'
"Of a sudden the girl gave a tiny scream and
grabbed the old boy around the neck. 'Oh, father,
father!' she says, kind of contralto, 'can this be
true? Have you taken money that is not yours?
Speak, father!' It made you shiver to hear the
tremolo stop she put on her voice.
"The old boy looked pretty bughouse when she
first grappled him, but she went on, whispering in his
ear and patting his off shoulder till he stood still, but
sweating a little.
"She got him to one side and they talked together a
minute, and then he put on some gold eyeglasses and
walked up and handed me the grip.
1
Two Recalls 333
"'Mr. Detective,' he says, talking a little broken,
'1 conclude to return with you. I have finished to
discover that life on this desolate and displeased coast
would be worse than to die, itself. I will go back and
hurl myself upon the mercy of the Republic Com-
pany. Have you brought a sheep?'
"* Sheep!' says I; * I haven't a single —'
"* Ship,' cut in the young lady. 'Don't get funny.
Father is of German birth, and doesn't speak perfect
English. How did you come?'
"The girl was all broke up. She had a handker-
chief to her face, and kept saying every little bit,' Oh,
father, father!' She walked up to me and laid her lily-
white hand on the clothes that had pained her at first.
I smelt a million violets. She was a lulu. I told her
I came in a private yacht.
"' Mr. O'Day,' she says. * Oh, take us away from
this horrid country at once. Can you! Will you!
Say you will.'
"' I'll try,' I said, concealing the fact that I was dy-
ing to get them on salt water before they could change
their mind.
"One thing they both kicked against was going
334 Cabbages and Kings
through the town to the boat landing. Said they
dreaded publicity, and now that they were going to re-
turn, they had a hope that the thing might yet be kept
out of the papers. They swore they wouldn't go un-
less I got them out to the yacht without any one know-
ing it, so I agreed to humour them.
"The sailors who rowed me ashore were playing
billiards in a bar-room near the water, waiting for or-
ders, and I proposed to have them take the boat down
the beach half a mile or so, and take us up there. How
to get them word was the question, for I couldn't
leave the grip with the prisoner, and I couldn't take it
with me, not knowing but what the monkeys might
stick me up.
"The young lady says the old coloured woman
would take them a note. I sat down and wrote it, and
gave it to the dame with plain directions what to do,
and she grins like a baboon and shakes her head.
"Then Mr. Wahrfield handed her a string of for-
eign dialect, and she nods her head and says, 'See,
sefior,' maybe fifty times, and lights out with the note.
"'Old Augusta only understands German,' said
Miss Wahrfield, smiling at me. 'We stopped in her
Two Recalls 335
house to ask where we could find lodging, and she in-
sisted upon our having coffee. She tells us she was
raised in a German family in San Domingo.'
"'Very likely,' I said. 'But you can search me
for German words, except nix verstay and noch einst.
I would have called that" See, senor " French, though,
on a gamble.'
"Well, we three made a sneak around the edge of
town so as not to be seen. We got tangled in vines
and ferns and the banana bushes and tropical scenery
a good deal. The monkey suburbs was as wild as
places in Central Park. We came out on the beach a
good half mile below. A brown chap was lying
asleep under a cocoanut tree, with a ten-foot musket
beside him. Mr. Wahrfield takes up the gun and
pitches it into the sea. 'The coast is guarded,' he
says. 'Rebellion and plots ripen like fruit.' He
pointed to the sleeping man, who never stirred.
'Thus,' he says, 'they perform trusts. Children!'
"I saw our boat coming, and I struck a match and
lit a piece of newspaper to show them where we were. In thirty minutes we were on board the yacht.
"The first thing, Mr. Wahrfield and his daughter 336 Cabbages and Kings
and I took the grip into the owner's cabin, opened it
up, and took an inventory. There was one hundred
and five thousand dollars, United States treasury
notes in it, besides a lot of diamond jewelry and a
couple of hundred Havana cigars. I gave the old
man the cigars and a receipt for the rest of the lot, as
agent for the company, and locked the stuff up in my
private quarters.
"I never had a pleasanter trip than that one. After
we got to sea the young lady turned out to be the joiliest ever. The very first time we sat down to dinner,
and the steward filled her glass with champagne —
that director's yacht was a regular floating Waldorf-Astoria — she winks at me and says, 'What's the use
to borrow trouble, Mr. Fly Cop? Here's hoping you
may live to eat the hen that scratches on your grave.'
There was a piano on board, and she sat down to it
and sung better than you give up two cases to hear
plenty times. She knew about nine operas clear
through. She was sure enough ban ton and swell.
She wasn't one of the 'among others present' kind;
she belonged on the special mention list!
"The old man, too, perked up amazingly on the Two Recalls 337
way. He passed the cigars, and says to me once,
quite chipper, out of a cloud of smoke, 'Mr. O'Day,
somehow I think the Republic Company will not give
me the much trouble. Guard well the gripvalise of
the money, Mr. O'Day, for that it must be returned
to them that it belongs when we finish to arrive.'
"When we landed in New York I 'phoned to the
chief to meet us in that director's office. We got in
a cab and went there. I carried the grip, and we
walked in, and I was pleased to see that the chief
had got together that same old crowd of moneybugs
with pink faces and white vests to see us march in. I
set the grip on the table. 'There's the money,' I said.
"' And your prisoner?' said the chief.
"I pointed to Mr. Wahrfield, and he stepped for-
ward and says:
"' The honour of a word with you, sir, to explain.'
"He and the chief went into another room and
stayed ten minutes. When they came back the chief
looked as black as a ton of coal.
"'Did this gentleman,' he says to me, 'have this
valise in his possession when you first saw him?'
"'He did,' said I.
338 Cabbages and Kings
r
"The chief took up the grip and handed it to the
prisoner with a bow, and says to the director crowd:
*Do any of you recognize this gentleman?'
"They all shook their pink faces.
"'Allow me to present,' he goes on, fSenor Mira-
flores, president of the republic of Anchuria. The
senor has generously consented to overlook this out-
rageous blunder, on condition that we undertake to
secure him against the annoyance of public comment.
It is a concession on his part to overlook an insult for
which he might claim international redress. I think
we can gratefully promise him secrecy in the matter.'
"They gave him a pink nod all round.
"'©'Day,' he says to me. 'As a private detective
you're wasted. In a war, where kidnapping govern-
ments is in the rules, you'd be invaluable. Come
down to the office at eleven.'"I knew what that meant.
"'So that's the president of the monkeys,' says I.
*Well, why couldn't he have said so?'"Wouldn't it jar you?"
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The Vitagraphoscope
Vaudeville is intrinsically episodic and dis-
continuous. Its audiences do not demand de-
nouements. Sufficient unto each "turn" is the evil
thereof. No one cares how many romances the
singing comedienne may have had if she can capably
sustain the limelight and a high note or two. The
audiences reck not if the performing dogs get
to the pound the moment they have jumped
through their last hoop. They do not desire
bulletins about the possible injuries received by
the comic bicyclist who retires head-first from the
stage in a crash of (property) china-ware. Neither
do they consider that their seat coupons entitle
them to be instructed whether or no there is a A
340 Cabbages and Kings
sentiment between the lady solo banjoist and the Irish monologist. Therefore let us have no lifting of the curtain upon
a tableau of the united lovers, backgrounded by de-
feated villainy and derogated by the comic, osculating
maid and butler, thrown in as a sop to the Cerberi
of the fifty-cent seats.
But our programme ends with a brief "turn" or
two; and then to the exits. Whoever sits the show
out may find, if he will, the slender thread that binds
together, though ever so slightly, the story that, per-
haps, only the Walrus will understand.
Extracts from a letter from the first vice-president
of the Republic Insurance Company, of New York
City, to Frank Goodwin, of Coralio, Republic of
Anchuria.
My Dear Mr. Goodwin : — Your communication
per Messrs. Howland and Fourchet, of New Orleans,
has reached us. Also their draft on N. Y. for $100,-
000, the amount abstracted from the funds of this
company by the late J. Churchill Wahrfield, its for-
mer president. . . . The officers and directors
unite in requesting me to express to you their sincere
esteem and thanks for your prompt and much appre-
The Vitagraphoscope 341
ciated return of the entire missing sum within two
weeks from the time of its disappearance. . . .
Can assure you that the matter will not be allowed to
receive the least publicity. . . . Regret exceed-
ingly the distressing death of Mr. Wahrfield by his
own hand, but . . . Congratulations on your
marriage to Miss Wahrfield . . . many charms,
winning manners, noble and womanly nature and en-
vied position in the best metropolitan society. . . .
Cordially yours,
Lucius E. Applegate,
First Vice-President the Republic Insurance
Company.
The Vitagraphoscope
(Moving Pictures)
The Last Sausage
Scene — An Artist's Studio. The artist, a young
man of prepossessing appearance, sits in a dejected
attitude, amid a litter of sketches, with his head
resting upon his hand. An oil stove stands on a pine
box in the centre of the studio. The artist rises,
tightens his waist belt to another hole, and lights the
stove. He goes to a tin bread box, half-hidden by A
342 Cabbages and Kings
a screen, takes out a solitary link of sausage, turns
the box upside-down to show that there is no more,
and chucks the sausage into a frying-pan, which he
sets upon the stove. The flame of the stove goes out,
showing that there is no more oil. The artist, in
evident despair, seizes the sausage, in a sudden access
of rage, and hurls it violently from him. At the same
time a door opens, and a man who enters receives
the sausage forcibly against his nose. He seems to
cry out; and is observed to make a dance step or two,
vigorously. The newcomer is a ruddy-faced, active,
keen-looking man, apparently of Irish ancestry.
Next he is observed to laugh immoderately; he kicks
over the stove; he claps the artist (who is vainly
striving to grasp his hand) vehemently upon the back.
Then he goes through a pantomime which to the
sufficiently intelligent spectator reveals that he has
acquired large sums of money by trading pot-metal
hatchets and razors to the Indians of the Cordillera
Mountains for gold dust. He draws a roll of money
as large as a small loaf of bread from his pocket,
and waves it above his head, while at the same time
he makes pantomime of drinking from a glass. The The Vitagraphoscope 343
artist hurriedly secures his hat, and the two leave the
studio together.
The Writing on the Sands
Scene — The Beach at Nice. A woman, beau-
tiful, still young, exquisitely clothed, complacent,
poised, reclines near the water, idly scrawling letters
in the sand with the staff of her silken parasol. The
beauty of her face is audacious; her languid pose is
one that you feel to be impermanent — you wait, ex-
pectant, for her to spring or glide or crawl, like a
panther that has unaccountably become stock-still.
She idly scrawls in the sand; and the word that she
always writes is *' Isabel.'' A man sits a few yards
away. You can see that they are companions, even
if no longer comrades. His face is dark and smooth,
and almost inscrutable — but not quite. The two
speak little together. The man also scratches on
the sand with his cane. And the word that he writes
is "Anchuria." And then he looks out where the
Mediterranean and the sky intermingle, with death
in his gaze.
344 Cabbages and Kings
The Wilderness and Thou
Scene — The Borders of a Gentleman's Estate in a
Tropical Land. An old Indian, with a mahogany-
coloured face, is trimming the grass on a grave by a
mangrove swamp. Presently he rises to his feet and
walks slowly toward a grove that is shaded by the
gathering, brief twilight. In the edge of the grove
stand a man who is stalwart, with a kind and courte-
ous air, and a woman of a serene and clear-cut loveli-
ness. When the old Indian comes up to them the
man drops money in his hand. The grave-tender,
with the stolid pride of his race, takes it as his due,
and goes his way. The two in the edge of the grove
turn back along the dim pathway, and walk close,
close — for, after all, what is the world at its best
but a little round field of the moving pictures with
two walking together in it?
CURTAIN
THE MCCLURK PRESS, NBTT YORK

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