Allan fled while Kirk proceeded to dream over his breakfast of bacon and cold-storage eggs.

He was beaming when he appeared at the office. He sang, he whistled, he performed his duties with a joyous uproar that interfered seriously with all around him and set the whole place in confusion. Nor did his spirits lessen when, later in the day, Allan informed him that the residence of Senor Luis Torres, whom the gods had selected as father to the delectable Maria, was at number 89 Avenida Norte.

Anthony did not taste his dinner that evening. As darkness settled he planted himself conspicuously on the corner opposite No. 89 and began to study the premises.

It was a trifle disappointing to note that Chiquita lived in such poor style; the place was not at all impressive. The first floor of the building was given over to a Chinese bazaar, and the upper story seemed neither extremely clean nor at all modern. But, although this clashed a bit with his preconceived ideas, he knew that many of the nicest Panamanian families lived in modest quarters.

His natural impulse was to apply boldly at the door, but he had learned something of local customs, and he determined to give no possible ground for offence. After she had recognized him and seen his willingness to follow the habit of her Spanish suitors, it would be feasible, perhaps, to adopt a more Americanized method. Meanwhile, he must run no risk of antagonizing her people.

In the Central American scheme of courtship patience plays a large part. It is the young man's practice to martyr himself until the sight of him becomes such a reproach that the family must perforce express its sympathy. Although this procedure struck Anthony as ludicrous in the extreme, its novelty was not without charm, and he had lived through such a period of torturing uncertainty that the mere fact of the girl's presence was compensation enough for his pains.

For an hour he stood motionless, staring at the upper windows of No. 89. Then his feet began to hurt, and he paraded slowly back and forth "playing the bear," as he had heard it termed. Another hour passed, and he discovered that, if his presence had not been marked by the members of the Torres household, it was at least exciting comment elsewhere in the neighborhood. Faces appeared at near-by windows; he heard sounds of muffled merriment which made him uncomfortable; passers-by smiled at him and dropped encouraging remarks which he could not translate. The little policeman, lounging at the next corner, watched him complacently and agreed with his neighbors that the Americano was undoubtedly a fine-appearing lover.

Kirk took his stand at last beneath a street light and gazed languorously upon the windows opposite until his eyes ached as well as his feet. At last a curtain parted, and he saw the flash of a white dress back of it. His heart leaped; he raised his hat; there was a titter from beyond the iron grating. Presently another figure was dimly revealed. The watcher held his position stubbornly until the last light in the Torres house winked out, then limped homeward, warmed by the glad conviction that at least he had been recognized.

Promptly at seven o'clock on the following evening he returned to his post, and before he had been there five minutes knew that his presence was noticed. This was encouraging, so he focused his mental powers in an effort to communicate telepathically with the object of his desires. But she seemed unattuned, and coyly refrained from showing her face. He undertook to loiter gracefully, knowing himself to be the target of many eyes, but found it extremely hard to refrain from sitting on the curb, a manifestly unromantic attitude for a love-lorn swain. He swore grimly that, if usage required a suitor to make an exhibition of himself before the entire neighborhood, he would do the job thoroughly. It did not cheer him to reflect that the girl had a keen sense of humor and must be laughing at him, yet he determined to put in a week at this idiotic love-making before he attempted anything else. Later in the evening he was rewarded by the glimpse of a handkerchief cautiously waved, and he was delirious with joy as he hobbled homeward.

Night after night he spent assiduously studying the cracks and blemishes in the stucco walls of No. 89 Avenida Norte, encouraged by the occasional flutter of a hand or a soulful sigh from behind the lace screen at the third window from the corner. But when Sunday came he was in no mood to continue this roundabout and embarrassing mode of courtship longer. He made an early start from his quarters, taking Allan with him.

"I'll catch her going to mass," he explained, hopefully. "I've just got to put an end to this performance."

"Will you h'accost her h'openly?" inquired Allan.

"You bet! If she runs away you trip her up. Oh, it's great to be in love!"

"Without doubt, sar."

"She's a corker, isn't she?"

"I do not know as to that," Allan demurred. "What may be a carker?"

"I mean she's beautiful."

"Oh, h'indeed so! And her h'eyes—like h'ink spots, as you say."

"Was she wearing a denim dress when you saw her?"

"Yes, yes," eagerly agreed the negro. "Oh, there is no mistake. It was a red dress."

"No, it wasn't. It was blue."

"H'exactly, sar—a sort of reddish blue."

"And she was—petite?"

"Rather more dark, I should say."

"I mean she was small."

"Oh, it is the same female. It is h'exciting, is it not?"

Kirk acknowledged that it was exciting, for, now that he had a full day in which to besiege No. 89, he felt certain of gaining a word at least with his inamorata. He was in good time, it seemed, for hardly had he taken his customary station before the Cathedral bells awoke the slumberous echoes of the city.

"Praise God, she will be coming soon!" Allan exclaimed. "I shall h'expire from fright. Look! There! THERE!"

Down the wide stairs leading from the living-rooms of Senor Torres came two women, and the negro danced in excitement. As they emerged upon the sidewalk the younger one flashed a glance at the men opposite, and Kirk saw that she was a mulatto—evidently a housemaid. His eager eyes flew back to the entrance. Allan hissed at him:

"Yonder goes! Quick, or you will be losing she."

"Where?"

"There! The young female in w'ite. It is h'indeed the Senorita Torres."

"THAT!" Anthony stared at the girl amazedly as she cast him a second and more coquettish flash of her black eyes. "Why, damn it, that—why, she's a—NIGGER!"

"No, no!" shrilly expostulated the Jamaican. "It is she. H'alas! They have turned the corner."

Kirk wheeled upon his detective in overwhelming disgust. "You idiot!" he breathed. "That girl is a 'dinge.' So, SHE'S the one I've been—Oh, it's unspeakable! Let's get away from here."

"You h'informed me in particular that she is dark," protested Allan.

"Come on!" Kirk dragged his companion away as fast as he could. His thoughts were too deep for tears. As soon as his emotion permitted coherent speech, he launched into a tirade so eloquent and picturesque that Allan was reduced to a state of wondering awe. Pausing at length in his harangue, he turned smouldering eyes upon the black boy.

"I ought to punch you right in the nose," he said, with mournful calmness. "Let me feel your head." Allan obediently doffed his cap, and Kirk rapped the woolly cranium with his knuckle. "Do you feel that? Is there any sensation?"

"Yes, sar! Shortly I shall suffer a swelling." Allan stroked the spot tenderly.

"It's all imagination; there's no feeling to solid bone. You've got an ivory 'nut,' my friend, just like a cane."

"Ivory-nuts grow upon trees, sar, in the Darien region."

Anthony regarded him sourly. "The Brunswick-Balke people never turned out anything half so round and half so hard. That burr of yours is a curio. I told you Chiquita was small and beautiful and dainty and—Oh, what's the use! This dame is a truck-horse. She's the color of a saddle."

"Oh, she is not too dark, sar." Allan came loyally to the defence of Miss Torres. "Some of the finest people in Panama is blacker than that. There is but few who are h'all w'ite."

"Well, SHE'S all white, and I want you to find her to-day—TO-DAY, understand? You gallop out to the Savannas and make some inquiries." He shook his fist in Allan's face. "If you don't learn something this trip, I'll have your lignum-vitae cranium in a bowling-alley by dark. Lord! If I only spoke Spanish!"

Allan reluctantly departed, and Kirk went back to his quarters in high displeasure. It seemed as if the affair had actually left a bad taste in his mouth. He could not compose his features into anything like a decently amiable expression, but went about with a bitter smile upon his lips. Every time some new aspect of his grotesque and humiliating mistake occurred to him he suffered a nervous twinge. That afternoon a card was brought to him bearing the ornate inscription in a beautiful Spencerian hand:

PROFESSOR JESUS HERARA THE HERARA COLLEGE OF BUSINESS

Reconciling himself as best he could to the prospect of an interview with some importunate stranger, he grudgingly consented to have the visitor brought in. Professor Herara was not alone. He was accompanied by a very short, very fat man, whose smooth skin had the rich, dark coloring of a nice, oily Cuban cigar.

"Senor Anthony, it is?" inquired the Professor, bowing ceremoniously.

"That's my name."

"It is my privilege to consult you upon a business of importance."

"I'm afraid you have the wrong party. I don't care to learn shorthand."

"Ah, no, it is not concerning my academy. Allow me to present Senor Luis Torres."

Kirk felt the room begin to revolve slowly.

"My friend does not possess a card at the moment, eh?" continued the Professor.

The little, rotund man bowed, his hand-polished, mahogany features widening in a smile.

"'Sveree hot wedder!" he exclaimed.

"He begs one thousand pardons for not speaking of your language the more perfectly, and so he is request of me to be his interpreter."

Something urged Kirk to flee while there was yet time, but the father of Maria Torres was between him and the door, and he could not bring himself to push the little man out of the way. So he bade them both be seated in the only two chairs which the room contained, while he rested gingerly upon the edge of the bed. The new-comers let their eyes roll curiously about the chamber, and an embarrassing silence descended. Senor Torres maintained a set smile designed to be agreeable; Professor Herara, serene in the possession of his linguistic acquirements, displayed the insouciance of an undertaker. Together they beamed benignantly, almost patronizingly, upon the young man. Plainly they meant to put him at his ease—but they failed. At length, after clearing his throat impressively, the interpreter began again:

"Of course, you have been expecting this visit, senor?"

"N—not exactly."

"My friend is deeply disappointed that he has not the honor of before meeting you."

"I am flattered, but—"

"Indeed, yes! Then you are perhaps acquainted with Senor Torres by reputation? You know who he is?" Professor Jesus Herara raised his brows and inclined his head like a polite school-teacher endeavoring to encourage a diffident pupil.

"I regret that I do not."

"He is one of our most estimable citizens. He is possess' not only of the magnificent residence at No. 89 Avenida Norte, but also of a comfortable abode at Las Savannas, and he has a large trade in sponges and hides. His place of business you will have noticed upon the water-front, perhaps?"

Kirk wiped his brow nervously and cursed Allan.

"And now, as for you, senor?" The principal of the Herara College of Business awaited an answer with unctuous deference. Evidently attributing the young man's silence to modesty, he went on, helpfully: "Senor Torres has instituted inquiries, and ascertained your excellent position with the P. R. R., but he would know more, if soch is not disagreeable to you."

"Well—I—there isn't much to tell. It is my first job."

This was quickly put into Spanish, whereupon Mr. Torres nodded with vigor, as if this information were indeed gratifying—nay, splendid.

"It is agreeable to my friend to ascertain your industry, and I may say you are most highly spoke of at the railroad office. Therefore, Senor Torres affords you an invitation to call at his residence on Thursday evening."

"That's awfully—nice," gasped Anthony; "but—er—what's the idea?"

"Ah!" The interpreter beamed; Mr. Torres beamed. They combined to radiate a gentle effulgence which was most disquieting. "It is indeed pleasing to encounter a gentleman so truly modest, so possessed of delicacy; but I may say that Senor Torres is look with favor upon your suit. Of course"—he checked Kirk's hasty words—"it is not completely settle, by no means; the young lady is but partly won. However"—he winked one black eye reassuringly— "as friend of the family I bid you not to permit discouragement and despair."

Anthony broke out in desperation: "Hold on! Let me explain! There's been an awful mistake."

"Mistake?" The tone was blandly incredulous.

"Yes. I'm not in love with Miss Torres."

Professor Jesus Herara stared at the speaker as if his mastery of the English language was, after all, incomplete. Torres, seeing that he was missing something, interpolated a smiling inquiry; then, as his interpreter made the situation clear, his honeyed smile froze, his sparkling eyes opened in bewilderment. He stared about the room again, as if doubting that he had come to the right place.

"There's really a mistake," Kirk persisted. "I don't even know Miss Torres."

"Ah! Now I understand." The Professor was intensely relieved. "It is precisely for that purpose we arrived. Bueno! You admire from a distance, is it not so? You are struck with the lady's beauty; your heart is awakened. You are miserable. You pine away. You cannot find courage to speak. It is admirable, senor. We understand fully, and I, who know, assure you of her many virtues."

"No, it's nothing like that, either. I have no doubt Miss Torres is altogether charming, but—I—there's just a mistake, that's all. I'm not the least bit in love with her."

"But, senor! Is it not you who have stood beneath her window nightly? Is it not you who have laid siege to her these many days?" The speaker's eyes were glowing with anger as he turned to make his inquiry clear to the young lady's father.

Mr. Torres began to swell ominously.

"If you'll just let me explain. I'm in love with a young woman, true enough, but it doesn't happen to be Miss Torres. I thought it was, but it isn't."

There was another vibrant exchange of words between the Spaniards.

"You were making sport, then, of my friend—"

"No, no! It's another person altogether."

"Who?"

"I don't know her name."

"WHAT?" Herara was about to burst forth when his friend nudged him and he was obliged to put this amazing declaration into Spanish. Senor Torres breathed heavily and exploded an oath.

"I met her in the country and made a mistake in the town houses," Kirk floundered on. "I never knew till this morning that I was on the wrong trail. It is all my fault. I thought the lady's name was Torres."

"Eh? So you love one whom you do not know? Incredible!"

"It does sound a little fishy."

"And it is a grave affront to my friend. How will the senorita understand?—she in whose breast is awakened already an answering thrills?"

"I'm mighty sorry. If you wish, I'll apologize in person to Miss Torres."

At this Herara cried out in horror; then, after a brief colloquy with the father, he rose stiffly, saying: "I offer no words from my friend. For the present he does not believe, nor do I. Inquiries will be institute, of that be assured. If you have deceived—if your intentions were not of the most honorable"—the head of the Herara Business College glared in a horrible manner— "you will have occasion to regret those foolish jokes."

Kirk tried to explain that his present regrets were ample for all time, but, bowing formally, the visitors withdrew, leaving him to revile anew the name of Allan Allan.

When the black boy returned, foot-sore but cheerful, his appearance was the signal for an outburst that left him disconsolate and bewildered. He apologized over and over for his little error, and tried to reinstate himself by announcing, with a confidence he was far from feeling, that this time he had identified the elusive Chiquita beyond the peradventure of a doubt. This welcome intelligence did much to make Kirk forget his wrath.

"What's her name?" he inquired, eagerly.

"Fermina, sar."

"Are you sure?"

"H'entirely. But it will not h'avail to be courting of those ladies, Master h'Auntony."

"Is there more than one?"

"Two of they—sisters—very rich. They h'occupy the 'ouse h'adjoining Senor Torres."

Allan spoke in a hushed voice, and shook his head as if to show the hopelessness of aspiring to such aristocracy. Surely Kirk knew of the Ferminas? Arcadio Fermina was the owner of the pearl- fishery concession and a person of the highest social distinction. He was white, all white, there was no doubt on that score. Undoubtedly Chiquita would prove to be his daughter and a joint heiress to his fabulous fortune. But she was not the sort to be courted from the street, even Allan knew that much; for, after all, such a procedure was followed only by the middle classes, and in this instance would result in nothing less than disaster.

It sounded reasonable, and Kirk allowed himself to be half convinced. It was no later than the following day, however, that Runnels pointed out two young ladies who were driving past and informed him that they were the Misses Fermina.

"Their old man has made a fortune out of the Pearl Islands," he remarked. "They say those girls have the finest collection of pearls in Central America."

Kirk gazed after them eagerly, but it took no more than a glance to show him that they were not even distantly related to the object of his search. Once more he set Allan upon the trail with instructions to find out who lived in the large house upon the hill—the one with the driveway of royal palms—and not to return without the information. But by now the Jamaican was beginning to weary of this running back and forth and to consider the quest a vain imagining. So, being wishful to dream another lottery number, he brought back with him a fanciful tale designed to quiet his employer and to assure himself ample leisure in the future.

"Master h'Auntony, your female is gone," he informed him, sadly.

"Gone! Where?"

"Somewhere—on a ship."

"Are you sure?"

"There is no doubt, sar. Her name is Garavel, and she h'occupies the big 'ouse on the 'ill. I discovered those h'impartant facts from the Bajan 'ooman."

"Stephanie! You saw her? By Jove! Then you are right this time. Quick! tell me all you learned."

Allan lied fluently, elaborately, and, finding his hero plunged into despair, resigned himself gratefully to another period of blissful idleness. This was much the simplest way, he decided; for even should Kirk meet a Garavel or a Fermina, there was no chance of his winning her, and love, after all, is but a passing impulse which may be summoned or banished at will by such simple mediums as charms. The boy did go out of his way to ease his benefactor's malady by taking a lock of his own fuzzy wool and placing it beneath Kirk's mattress, after certain exorcisms.

There followed a period of blank dejection. Kirk's first disappointment, when the girl had failed to keep her tryst, was as nothing compared to this, for now he felt that she was unattainable. He did not quite give up hope; so many strange experiences had befallen him since his involuntary departure from New York that it all seemed like a dream in which anything is possible. But he was deep in the doldrums when, with magic suddenness, the scene changed, and his long discouragement came to an end.



XIX

"LA TOSCA"

The winter season was at its height now. For weeks there had been no rain, and the Pacific side of the Isthmus was growing sere and yellow beneath the ceaseless glare of the sun. The musty dampness of the rainy season had disappeared, the steady trade-winds breathed a dreamy languor, and the days fled past in one long, unending procession of brilliant sameness. Every ship from the North came laden with tourists, and the social life of the city grew brilliant and gay. There were receptions, dinners, dances; the plazas echoed to the strains of music almost nightly. Now that Nature smiled, the work upon the Canal went forward with ever- growing eagerness. Records were broken in every department, the railroad groaned beneath its burden, the giant human machine was strained to its fullest efficiency.

Young Anthony mastered the details of his work very rapidly, for railroading had been bred into him. He needed little help from Runnels, and soon began to feel a conscious grasp of affairs as surprising to himself as to his chief. Being intensely interested in his work, he avoided all social entanglements, despite repeated invitations from Mrs. Cortlandt. But, when the grand-opera season began, he made an exception, and joined her box-party on the opening night.

It seemed quite like old times to don an evening suit; the stiff, white linen awakened a pang of regret. The time was not far distant when he had felt never so much at home as in these togs; but now they were hot and uncomfortable—and how they accentuated his coat of tan!

There was a somewhat formal dinner in the Cortlandts' new home, at which there were a dozen guests; so Kirk had no opportunity of speaking with his hostess until they had reached the theatre, where he found himself seated immediately behind her.

"I've scarcely seen you lately," she said, at the first opportunity. "You're a very neglectful young man."

"I knew you were getting settled in your house, and we've been tremendously busy at the office."

"I began to think you were avoiding us."

"You must know better than that."

She regarded him shrewdly over her shoulder. "You're not still thinking of—that night at Taboga? You haven't seemed the same since."

He blushed, and nodded frankly. "I can't help thinking about it. You were mighty nice to overlook a break like that, but—" Unconsciously his eyes shifted to Cortlandt, who was conversing politely with a giggly old lady from Gatun.

She tapped his cheek lightly with her fan. "Just to show you how forgiving I am, I am going to ask you to go riding with me. The late afternoons are lovely now, and I've found a good horse for you. I suppose you ride?"

"I love it."

"Wednesday, at five, then." She turned to another guest, and Kirk leaned back to take in the scene about him.

Like most Latin-American cities, Panama prides herself upon her government theatre, which is in truth very beautiful. Although it remains dark most of the year, its brief period of opera is celebrated by a notable outpouring. To-night the magnificent white-and-gold auditorium was filled to the topmost gallery, and the two circles of boxes were crowded with the flower of Panamanian society, tourists from the North, and Americans from the whole length of the Canal Zone. Kirk himself had seen to running a theatre special from Colon, and recognized all six of the Commissioners, with their families. It was an exceedingly well-dressed audience, and although the pit was plentifully sprinkled with men in white, the two lower galleries were in solid full-dress. Bejewelled women in elaborate gowns lent the affair almost the elegance of a night at the Metropolitan, while the flash of many uniforms made the scene colorful.

Suddenly the orchestra broke into the national air, and with a great rustling and turning of heads the audience rose to its feet. In the centre box of the first tier, ornately hung with flags and a coat of arms, Anthony beheld a giant black man of majestic appearance, drawn to his full height and flanked by a half-dozen aides in uniform, all at a stiff military salute.

"That is President Galleo," Edith told him.

"Jove! He's a regal-looking chap," Kirk exclaimed.

"He's very much of a man, too, yet even here there is a color line. Nobody acknowledges it, but the old Castilian families are keenly aware of it just the same."

As the last measured strain died out the audience reseated itself, the introduction to "La Tosca" sounded, and the curtain rose. Although the names of the performers were unknown to Kirk, their voices were remarkably good, and he soon became absorbed in the drama. A sudden lonesomeness surged over him as he recalled another night when he and Darwin K. Anthony had heard these same notes sung. But then they had sat enthralled by the art of Caruso, Scotti, and the ravishing Cavalieri. It had been one of the rare hours when he and his father had felt themselves really in sympathy. The Governor had come down for some fabulous directors' meeting, he remembered, and had wired his son to run in from New Haven for the evening. They had been real chums that night, and even at their modest little supper afterward, when the old gentleman had rowed with the waiter and cursed his dyspepsia, they had laughed and chatted like cronies. Yet a week later they had quarrelled.

With an unexpected access of tenderness, Anthony Jr. longed to see once more that tumbled shock of white hair, that strong-lined face; to hear again the gruff tones of that voice he loved so well. After all, there were only two Anthonys left in the world, and he had been to blame. He acknowledged that he had been a ne'er-do-well. No wonder his father had been harsh, but still—old Darwin K. should not have been so domineering, so ready to credit all he heard. Kirk pressed his lips together and swore to make good, if for no other reason than to show his dad.

As the curtain fell on the first act, he rose with the others and, accompanied by Mrs. Cortlandt, made his way down the long passageway and out into a brightly lighted, highly decorated foyer filling now with voluble people. It was a splendid room; but he had no eyes for it. His gaze was fixed upon the welcome open-air promenade outside, and his fingers fumbled with his cigarette- case.

"Oh, wait, please," he heard Edith say, "I want you to meet some one."

He had done little except respond to meaningless introductions all the evening, and nothing could have pleased him less at the moment. But, somewhat awkwardly, he began to edge his way through the press in the wake of his hostess. The next moment he halted and stood stock-still in helpless surprise.

There, not a yard away, was the girl of his dreams demurely bowing to Edith Cortlandt, her hand upon the arm of a swarthy man whom Kirk knew at once as her father. He felt the blood rush blindingly to his head, felt it drumming at his ears, knew that he must be staring like a man bereft. Mrs. Cortlandt was speaking, and he caught the name "Garavel" like a bugle-call. They turned upon him, the Spanish gentleman bowed, and he saw that Chiquita's little white-gloved hand was extended toward him.

She was the same dainty, desirous maid he had met in the forest, but now splendidly radiant and perfect beyond his imagining. She was no longer the simple wood-sprite, but a tiny princess in filmy white, moulded by some master craftsman. As on that earlier meeting, she was thrilling with some subtle mirth which flickered on her lips or danced in the depths of her great, dark eyes.

How he ever got through that wild introductory moment without making a show of himself, Anthony never knew, for his first overwhelming impulse was to seize the girl and never let her escape. It was the same feeling he had had at Las Savannas, only ten times harder to resist. The general confusion, perhaps, helped to hide his emotion, for around them eddied a constant human tide, through which at last came Mr. Cortlandt and the other members of his party. There were more introductions, more bows and polite exchanges of words which had the maddening effect of distracting Miss Garavel's attention. Then, by some glorious miracle, Kirk found himself moving toward the open air at her side, with Mrs. Cortlandt and the banker in advance of them.

"Oh, Chiquita," he said, softly, "I thought I'd NEVER find you. I've hunted everywhere."

At the tremulous intensity of his tone, she gave an uncertain laugh and flashed him a startled glance.

"Chiquita is not my name," she said, reprovingly.

"Yes, it is; it must be. I can't think of you by any other. Hasn't it been whispering at my ears ever since you said it? It has nearly driven me mad."

"Senor Antonio! I have seen you but once."

"I have seen you every day, every hour-"

"Indeed?"

"I can't see anything else. Don't you understand?"

"You forget that we have but just been introduced."

"Don't be offended; you see, I can't realize that I have found you at last. When I learned you had gone away, I thought I would surely-"

"I have been nowhere."

"Didn't you go away on a ship?"

"That is absurd! I have remained always in my father's house."

"Then wait until I catch that boy of mine! Didn't you know I was looking for you? Couldn't you FEEL it?"

"Indeed, why should I imagine such things?"

"Why, if you couldn't feel a thing like that, you can't love me."

"Of a certainly not," she gasped. "You should not joke about such things."

"I'm not joking; I never was so serious in my life. I-I'm afraid I can't tell you everything-it all wants to come out at once. Why didn't you come back as you promised?"

"It was Stephanie-she is such a ferocious person! I was brought to the city that day-but no, senor. I did not promise. I said only 'perhaps.'"

"Have you done your penance?"

"It was finished yesterday. This is the first time I have been out. Oh, it is delightful. The music-the people!"

"And I can come to see you now?"

"Very well do you know that you cannot. Have you not learned our customs?" Then, with an abrupt and icy change of tone: "I forget. Of course you are familiar with those customs, since you have become the wooer of Miss Torres."

"Oh, Lord! Where did you hear about that?"

"So! It is true. You are fickle, senor-or is it that you prefer dark people?"

"I was looking for you. I thought it was you behind those curtains all the time." He began a flurried defence of his recent outrageous behavior, to which Miss Garavel endeavored to listen with distant composure. But he was so desperately in earnest, so anxious to make light of the matter, so eager to expose all his folly and have done with it, that he must have been funnier than he knew. In the midst of his narrative the girl's eyes showed an encouraging gleam, and when he described his interview with Torres and Heran their surprise and dramatic indignation, she laughed merrily.

"Oh, it wasn't funny at the time," he hastened to add. "I felt as though I had actually proposed, and might have to pay alimony."

"Poor Maria! It is no light thing to be cast aside by one's lover. She is broken-hearted, and for six months she will do penance."

"This penance thing is a habit with you girls. But I wasn't her lover; I'm yours."

"Do not be foolish," she exclaimed, sharply, "or I shall be forced to walk with my father."

"Don't do that. Can't you see we must make haste while the curtain is down?"

"I do not see. I am strolling in search of the cool air." She bowed and smiled at some passing friends. She seemed very careless, very flippant. She was not at all the impetuous, mischievous Chiquita he had met in the woods.

"See here!" he said, soberly. "We can't go on this way. Now that I've met your father, I'm going to explain my intentions to him, and ask his permission to call on you."

"We have a—proverb, senor, 'Ir por lana, y volver trasquilado,' which means, 'Take heed lest you find what you do not seek.' Do not be impetuous."

"There's only one thing I'm seeking."

"My father is a stern man. In his home he is entirely a Spaniard, and if he learned how we met, for instance"-even under the electric light he saw her flush-"he would create a terrible scene." She paused in her walk and leaned over the stone balustrade, staring out across the ink-black harbor.

"Trust me! I shan't tell him."

"There are so many reasons why it is useless."

"Name one."

"One!" She shrugged lightly. "In the first place I care nothing for you. Is not that enough?"

"No, indeed. You'll get over that."

"Let us imagine, then, the contrary. You Americans are entirely different from our people. You are cold, deliberate, wicked-your social customs are not like ours. You do not at all understand us. How then could you be interested to meet a Spanish family?"

"Why, you're half American."

"Oh yes, although it is to be regretted. Even at school in your Baltimore I learned many improper things, against which I have had to struggle ever since."

"For instance?"

"Ah," she sighed, "I saw so much liberty; I heard of the shocking conduct of your American ladies, and, while I know it is quite wrong and wicked, still-it is interesting. Why, there is no other nice girl in all Panama who would have talked with you as I did in the forest that day."

"But what has all this to do with my coming to see you?"

"It is difficult to explain, since you will not understand. When a young man is accepted into a Spanish house, many things are taken for granted. Besides that, we do not know each other, you and I. Also, if you should come to see me, it would cause gossip, misunderstanding among my friends."

"I'll declare myself in advance," he promised warmly.

"No, no, no! We Spanish-Americans do not care for strangers. We have our own people and we are satisfied. You Yankees are not very nice; you are barbarous; you assume such liberties. Our young men are gentle, modest, sweet—"

"Um-m! I hadn't noticed it."

"This is the first time I have ever talked so freely with a gentleman, and I suppose it is immodest. After all, it is much better that old people who are of more experience should discuss these questions."

"But don't you want to have a voice in your own affairs?" he eagerly urged. "Do you really want your relatives to tell you whom to meet, whom to love, and whom to marry?"

She answered, frankly: "Sometimes I feel that way. Yet at other times I am sure they must know best."

"I don't believe you are the sort to shut your eyes and do exactly as you're told."

"I do rebel sometimes. I protest, but it is only the American blood in me."

"If you'd learn to know me a little bit, maybe you'd enjoy having me around the house."

"But I cannot know you, any more than you can know me," she cried, with a little gesture of despair at his dullness. "Don't you see— before we could get acquainted nicely people would be talking?"

"Let's try. You're living at the country place again, aren't you? Suppose I should get lost some day—tomorrow, for instance?"

"No, no! Listen. It is the warning bell, and we must return."

The crowd was filing into the theatre now. They fell in behind Senor Garavel and Mrs. Cortlandt.

"I'm going hunting again tomorrow," prophesied Kirk, "and I'm almost certain to lose my way-about three o'clock."

"You should take with you a guide."

"That's not a bad idea. I'd like to talk it over with you. Suppose we have another stroll after the next act?"

"I shall be with my father. Never before have I enjoyed so much liberty." She sighed gratefully.

"Oh, I detest your blamed, straitlaced Spanish customs," he cried, hotly. "What do they amount to, anyhow? I love you. I do, I do-"

She laughed and darted to her father's side.

"Don't you think Miss Garavel is a pretty girl?" Mrs. Cortlandt questioned, as they strolled toward their box.

"She's a dream." Anthony's tone left nothing unsaid.

"You got along together capitally. Most of the senoritas are impossible."

"By the way, what is her name?"

"Gertrudis. Rather pleasing, I think."

Kirk thought so, too. In fact, it pleased him so greatly that he thought of nothing else during the entire second act of "La Tosca." It was even sweeter than the music of her hesitating accent.

When, after an age, the curtain fell for a second time, he escaped from his companions, mumbling some excuse or other, and made haste to find her again. But as he approached he felt a sudden pang of jealous rage.

Ramon Alfarez was beside her, and the two were chatting with an appearance of intimacy that made him furious. Close at hand stood Garavel, deep in conversation with Colonel Jolson.

"Ah, Ramon, I wish you to meet Mr. Anthony," said Gertrudis. "So! You have met before?"

"In Colon," Kirk explained, while Alfarez scorched him with his eyes. "Mr. Alfarez was very hospitable to me."

"Yes," the Spaniard exclaimed. "It is my great regret that Senor Ant'ony did not remain for longer."

"Ramon is with the President's party this evening. He is Senor Galleo's Secretary, you know."

"I informed you concerning those good fortunes some time since, eh?" Ramon's insulting stare made Kirk long to take him by the throat.

"Yes, you told me. I suppose it is a fine position."

Alfarez swelled pompously. "I 'ave many responsibilities."

"It brings you very close to the Chief Executive, no doubt."

"I 'ave indeed the honor to be his intimate!"

"He's the tallest negro I ever saw," Kirk said, simply, at which the haughty Ramon seemed about to explode, and Miss Garavel quite shamelessly giggled.

"That is funny," she exclaimed. "But you must not tease Ramon. You understand, the voice of the people has made Galleo President, but no one forgets that he is not one of us."

Her youthful countryman twisted his mustache with trembling fingers.

"It is politics!" he declared. "And yet Galleo is a great man; I am honor' to be his Secretary. But by the grace of God our next President will be w'ite."

"Ramon's father, Don Anibal, you know." Gertrudis nodded wisely at the American. "We are very proud of Ramon, he is so young to be high in politics."

"Eh! Yes, and many of our bravest patriots 'ave been black men."

"Oh, we've had some brave negroes, too," Kirk acknowledged.

"So! You see!" Alfarez was triumphant.

"The greatest fighter we ever had was a colored chap."

"Ah!"

"His name was Gans—Joe Gans."

"You are still joking," said Miss Garavel. "In Baltimore I read the newspapers about that Gans. He was a-box-fighter, what?"

"Exactly. But he never carried a Secretary."

Alfarez's countenance was sallow as he inquired:

"Does Senor Ant'ony discover our climate to be still agreeable?"

"Very. It hasn't grown too warm for me yet."

"We are but approaching our 'ot season." The speaker's eyes snapped.

"Oh, I'll stand the heat all right, and the mosquitoes, too."

"Eh! Do not be too sure. The mosquito makes a leetle buzzing-but it is well to take warning. If not, behol', some day you grow ver' seeck."

Heretofore Kirk had hated Ramon in a careless, indifferent sort of way, feeling that he owed him a good drubbing, which he would be pleased to administer if ever a fitting time arrived. But now, since he saw that the jackanapes had the audacity to love Gertrudis, his feeling became intense. The girl, of course, was fully alive to the situation, and, although she evidently enjoyed it, she did her best to stand between the two men.

As for Alfarez, he was quick to feel the sudden fierce hostility he had aroused, and it seemed to make him nervous. Moreover, he conceived that he had scored heavily by his last retort, at which Kirk had only smiled. It therefore seemed best to him to withdraw from the conversation (annoyingly conducted in English), and a few moments later he stalked majestically away. This was just what Kirk wanted, and he quickly suggested the balcony. But Gertrudis was obstinate.

"I must remain with my father," she said.

"May I sit beside you, then? I've been thinking of a lot of things to say. I always think of bully remarks when it's too late. Now I've forgotten them. Do you know, I'm going to nestle up to your father and make him like me?"

"Again you are speaking of that subject. I have known you but an hour, and you talk of nothing but my father, of me, of coming to call."

"Well, I can't think of anything else."

"You are too bold. Spanish fathers do not like such young men. But to hear me talk!" She flushed slightly. "I have lost all modesty to speak of those things. You force me to embarrass myself."

"I was an instantaneous success with Miss Torres' father. He was ready to send a dray for my trunks."

"Let us discuss other things."

"I haven't the strength. You once spoke of a chap your people had picked out. It isn't-Alfarez?"

She let her dark eyes rest upon his a moment, and his senses swam. Then she nodded slowly.

"You do not like him?"

"Just like a nose-bleed. The day you and I are married I'm going to send him a wreath of poison ivy."

"It pleases you always to joke."

"No joke about that. You won't give in, will you?"

"There is no question of force nor of surrender, senor. I insist now that we shall speak of other things."

A few moments later he was constrained to rejoin his hostess' party.

"When are you going back to Las Savannas?" he asked, as he reluctantly arose.

"To-morrow."

"The hunting ought to be good-"

But she frowned at him in annoyance, and he left her, after all, without knowing whether he had gained or lost ground. Of one thing only he was sure-their meeting had been in some respects a disappointment. She was not by any means so warm and impulsive as he had supposed. Her girlishness, her simplicity, her little American ways, cloaked a deep reserve and a fine sense of the difference in their positions. She could be Spanish enough when she chose, he perceived, and he felt, as he was intended to feel, that the little lady of quality he had met to-night would be much harder to win than the girl of the woods. The plague of it was that, if anything, he was more in love with the definite and dazzling Gertrudis Garavel than he had been with the mysteriously alluring Chiquita. If only she were all American, or even all Spanish, perhaps he would know better how to act. But, unfortunately, she was both-just enough of both to be perplexing and wholly unreliable. And then, too, there was Alfarez!



XX

AN AWAKENING

He was in no more satisfactory frame of mind when, on the next afternoon, he shouldered his gun and set out for the country. He went directly to the fairy pool, and waited there in a very fever of anxiety. Despite the coolness and peace of the place, he felt his pulses throb and his face burn. If she came, it would mean everything to him. If she stayed away-why, then he would have to believe that, after all, the real Gertrudis Garavel had spoken last night at the opera, and that the sprightly, mirthful little maid who had bewitched him on their first meeting no longer existed. An odd bashfulness overtook him. It did not seem to him that it could possibly have been he who had talked to her so boldly only the evening before. At the thought of his temerity he felt almost inclined to flee, yet he would not have deserted his post for worlds. The sound of a voice shot through his troubled thoughts like a beam of sunlight through a dark room.

"Oh, Senor Antonio! How you startled me!"

Instantly his self-possession came back. He felt relieved and gay.

"Good-afternoon, queen!" He rose and bowed politely. "I thought I saw one underneath the waterfall just now."

"Who would have expected you to be here?" she cried, with an extreme and obviously counterfeit amazement that filled him with delight.

"I'm lost," he declared; then, after one look into her eyes, he added, "Absolutely, utterly, irretrievably lost."

"It is very fortunate that I chanced to be passing, for this is a lonely spot; nobody ever comes here."

"Well, I hardly ever lose myself in busy places. Won't you sit down?"

"Since we have met quite by accident, perhaps it would not be so very improper," She laughed mischievously.

"You know I've been lost now for several months. It's a delightful feeling-you ought to try it."

She settled uncertainly beside him like a butterfly just alighting, ready to take flight again, on the instant.

"Perhaps I can help you to find your way, senor?" she said, with ingenuous politeness.

"You are the only one who can, Miss Garavel. I don't know that I ever told you, but I'm in love."

"Indeed?"

"I am the most miserably happy person in the world, for I have just this moment begun to believe that the young lady likes me a little bit."

"Oh! But I forgot the real reason why I came. I have something I must tell you."

"All right. But honestly now, didn't you WANT to come?"

She turned upon him in a little burst of passion. "Yes!" she cried. "Of course I did! I wished to come, madly, senor. There is no use to lie. But wait! It is wholly because I am a-what you call fleert-a very sad fleert." No one could possibly describe the quaint pronunciation she gave the word. "It makes my heart patter, like that"—she made her little fingers "patter"-"to be wooed even by a Yankee. But I do not love you in the least. Oh no! Even if I wished to do so, there are too many reasons why I could not, and when I explain you will understand."

"I know; it's Ramon Alfarez. You're half-way engaged to him—but you know you don't love him."

"Ah! It is not too sure. He is of fine family, he is rich, he is handsome-not possibly could I care for any man who was not all of those. All my life I have thought him a very sweet gentleman, and for a long time it has been agreed that I should be his wife. Even all the young ladies are furious at me, which is very nice also-so it is only because I am disobedient that I rebelled. But I was punished for my evil disposition." She sighed mournfully. "And now it is all arranged once more."

"Is it really signed, sealed, stamped, and delivered in the presence of?"

"No, no; but 'Arco siempre armado'-"

"Of course. Is that a prescription?"

'"A bow long bent grows weak.' And there are so many reasons why I should say yes."

"You haven't mentioned any that would be binding in law."

"My father's wish. Is not that sufficient?"

"You disregarded that once."

"That was but a flutter. All the time I knew I should be Ramon's wife when the time arrived. But it made him so unhappy that I was quite pleased. Only for those ugly blue dresses, I would have greatly enjoyed my penance. Perhaps I could refuse to wed a man my father chose for me, but no nice Spanish girl would dare to wed a man her father did not like. Do you see?"

"But it's no cinch your father won't positively hunger for me, once we get chummy."

"And I for Ramon? How sad that would be, eh?"

"Really, now, couldn't you bring yourself to marry a chap who wasn't aristocratic, rich, and handsome? You know that's a tough combination. Most aristocratic people are poor, and the rich ones have dyspepsia."

"Oh no! I am quite certain."

"Suppose I should show you a family tree that you couldn't throw a stone over?"

"It would not do at all. I am so extravagant."

"I fully intend to be rich, some time."

"But you are not handsome, senor." Her eyes travelled over him with a mischievous twinkle. "You are too beeg."

"I'm very durable; I'd last a long time."

She shook her dark head decisively, and he saw the lights that rippled in her profuse crown of hair.

"You are too different, you disregard our customs, you are bold. You continue to come here against my wishes, which no Spanish gentleman would dare to do."

"Oh, I'm no Spanish gentleman. I'm just an emotional blond; but I'm bound to marry you."

"If one of my countrymen found me so indiscreet as to talk with him alone like this, he would go away and never come back. I am amazed at you, senor. Have you no pride?"

"Not a bit; and now that I have met all your objections, let's arrange the details. Shall it be a church wedding?"

She laughed deliciously. "What a nice game it is we have played! But now I must talk seriously."

"You witch!" he breathed. "Do you think I could ever give you up?"

She checked him gravely. "Truly, it was just a game—and yet it was not altogether so, either. But here is what I came to say. The strangest thing has happened-not until last night after the opera did I even dream of it, and-even now I cannot believe. Oh, I am so proud!"

"More bad news for me, I suppose."

"Yes. But such good news for me that I am sure you will be glad." Timidly he reached out and touched a fold of her white dress. She seemed to be slipping from him. "Coming home from the theatre my father told me-oh, the most wonderful thing! He said-but how shall I speak of such a secret?"

"Evidently you don't intend to."

"I promised very faithfully not to tell, so-he is to be the next President of Panama."

"Pres—" Anthony stared at her in frank amazement. "Why, I thought old man Alfarez—"

"It seems your country does not like him because he hates Americans-see? This is the work of that Mr. Cortlandt. Think! Is it not wonderful? Now that you know the truth, you must see at once that by no means could I marry to a person like you."

"Why not?"

"Ohe! Don't you understand? I shall be the finest lady in the Republic. All men will adore me. I will have suitors-not one or two as now, but many. I will be 'the beautiful Senorita Garavel,' for all the great people are beautiful. I shall be proud, also, and I shall not even speak to Yankees any more. My father will be the most famous man of all the Republic-perhaps in the whole world, I don't know."

"I don't think it will make any difference with him when he knows who I am."

"Then you also are a great man, eh?" She hitched herself about, to face him more squarely. "That is truly interesting. He would scarcely wish a railroad conductor to address the daughter of President Garavel."

"Oh, I've been promoted since I was out here last. Anyhow, I guess my dad is pretty nearly as good as anybody in Panama."

"He is, then, of blue blood?"

"No! Red."

"Oh, but a gentleman!"

"He is now. He used to be a brakeman."

"You appear to be-proud of such a thing! How strange! My father's blood runs back to the conquistadors; even in the earliest books one finds Garavels. They were conquerors, they ruled this country and all these people."

"That's something to be proud of, but it isn't everything. High- bred horses run well, but they can't pull. It's the old farm nag that delivers the merchandise. But I'll tackle your father, and I'll promise to vote for him."

"You are very fonny." She gazed at him seriously, one tiny foot curled under her, her chin nestling into her palm.

"Do you love me?"

"Not one single speck. I merely like you to make love at me and cause my heart to jomp! But that is not fair to you, is it?-since you can have no hope."

The little hypocrite continued to voice words of warning and denial, though her eyes invited him, and for a long time they continued this delightful play of pleading and evasion. But at last Chiquita jumped up with a great appearance of alarm.

"Heavens! the time," she cried. "I have stayed too long by much. Stephanie will miss me."

He rose and stretched out his hand as if to hold her.

"Shall I come again to-morrow?"

She grew suddenly earnest.

"No, no, senor. That is something you should not ask. If ever we are to meet again, it must be with my father's consent. Please! Do not urge, for truly I would have to refuse." She let her palm rest in his an instant, and her cheek went scarlet as he pressed it to his lips. Then she said: "Go, Mr. Brazen One. How greatly it surprised me to find you here I cannot say. It gave me such a start! And, Senor Antonio—my father may be found any day at his bank." Before he could detain her she was gone, flitting up the path with just one flashing smile of mischief over her shoulder.

Anthony went home with his head in the clouds. All his doubts were now at rest; for while Chiquita had stubbornly denied him all encouragement, he felt sure that her heart had answered. It was in the highest spirits, therefore, that he opened a letter he found awaiting him, and read as follows:

DEAR KIRK,—I hope you are heartily sick of yourself and ready to do something decent for a change. Knowing your aristocratic habits as I do, I realize you must owe a lot of money by this time, and your new friends must be getting tired of you. I have been expecting you to draw on me daily, and am taking this occasion to warn you in your own expensively acquired college English that "THERE IS NOTHING DOING"—except upon one condition. If you will agree to behave yourself in future, I will pay your debts, send you West, and give you a job as operator at forty dollars a month. BUT—you will go where I send you, and you will stay where you are put. I will do the thinking for both of us and judge of your associates. Maybe if you prove to be any good at all, I will arrange with the police to let you spend your vacations in "that dear New York," which still shows signs of your red—paint brush. I would be pleased to have an apology by return mail, so that I may meet you in New Orleans and start you off once more on the road to decency and self-respect. You will never be a success at anything, but I am always ready to do my duty. This is my last offer, and if you refuse you may distinctly and definitely go to the devil. As ever,

Your loving father, DARWIN K. ANTHONY.

P.S.—I can get GOOD operators for thirty dollars a month. The extra ten dollars is pure sentiment.

Kirk had known in advance just about what the letter contained, and now laughed aloud. It was so like the old gentleman! Why, he could almost hear him dictating it.

Spurred by his present exhilaration, he wrote an answer, which he read with a good deal of satisfaction before sealing it up.

DEAR DAD,-Your affectionate letter, with the kind offer to take charge of a siding out in the Dakotas, is at hand. I would like to help you along with your business, but "Upward and onward" is my motto, and you'll have to raise that salary a bit. I am drawing two hundred and twenty-five dollars a month at present, quarters furnished and promotion promised. I have made some good investments, and there are no debts to settle. Enclosed find my last bank statement, which will doubtless prove a great disappointment to you.

If you need a good Master of Transportation, I would be pleased to consider an offer at any time, provided the salary is satisfactory, but your proposal to edit my acquaintances is out of the question. My decency and self respect are doing well, thank you, and I like the climate.

Outside my window a mocking-bird sings nightly, and I have a tame rabbit with ears like a squirrel and baby-blue eyes—also a Jamaican negro boy who, I fear, could not stand our harsh Northern winters.

The salary would have to be about six thousand a year. As always,

Your devoted and obedient son, KIRK.

P.S.—I would not care to locate farther west than Buffalo. My wife might not like it.

"If he survives the first part, that tag line will put him down for the count," mused the writer, with a grin. "And, yet, something tells me he will not embrace my offer. Ah, well! Promotion is slow." He whistled blithely as he sent Allan off to the post-office.

Kirk lost no time in calling at the bank, but was disappointed to learn that Senor Andres Garavel had left the city for an unexpected business tour of the Provinces and would not return for at least two weeks. At first he was inclined to doubt the truth of this statement, but a casual inquiry from Mrs. Cortlandt confirmed it, and, cursing his luck, he sought distraction where he could most easily find it.

In the days that followed he saw nothing of Gertrudis, but a good deal of Edith Cortlandt. She had redeemed her promise of getting him a good horse-something rare in this country-and he was grateful for the exercise, which came as a welcome relief from his indoor toil. They rode almost daily; he dined at her house, and once again made one of her party at the opera. Soon their old friendly intercourse was going on as if it had never been interrupted.

As for Edith, this unsatisfying, semi-public intimacy came to be quite as much a pain as a pleasure to her. During these past few weeks she had been plunged in a mental turmoil, the signs of which she had concealed with difficulty. She had fought with herself; she had tried to reason; she had marshalled her pride, but all in vain. At last she awoke to the terrifying certainty that she was in love. It had all begun with that moment of impulsive surrender at Taboga. The night following had been terrible to her. In its dark hours she had seen her soul for the first time, and the glimpse she got frightened her. Following this, she became furious with herself, then resentful toward Anthony; next she grew desperate and reckless.

She began to look upon her husband with a quickened curiosity, and found him a stranger. For years she had made allowance for his weaknesses, ignoring them as she ignored his virtues; but never before had he appeared so colorless, so insignificant, above all so alien. She had barely tolerated him hitherto, but now she began to despise him.

If Cortlandt was aware of her change of feeling and its cause, his method of dealing with her showed some keenness. Silent contempt was what she could least endure from him of all men; yet this was just what his manner toward her expressed-if it expressed anything. Beyond those words as they were leaving the island, he had said nothing, had never referred to the incident, had not so much as mentioned Anthony's name unless forced to do so, and this offended her unreasonably. She caught him regarding her strangely at times with a curious, faltering expression, but he was so icy in his reserve, he yielded so easily to her predominance, that she could divine nothing and turned the more fiercely to her inward struggle. Even if he did suspect, what then? It was no affair of his; she was her own mistress. She had given him all he possessed, she had made a man of him. He was her creature, and had no rights beyond what she chose to give. They saw less and less of each other. He became more formal, more respectfully unhusbandlike. He spent few daylight hours in the house, coming and going as he pleased, frequenting the few clubs of the city, or riding alone. On more than one occasion he met her and Anthony on their horses. Only before others, or at their frequent political councils, were they quite the same as they had been.

Of Anthony, on the other hand, she arranged to see more than ever, flattering him by a new deference in her manner, making him feel always at ease with her, watching him vainly for the least sign of awakening desire. In their frequent rides they covered most of the roads about the city, even to the ruins of old Panama. Then they began to explore the by-paths and trails.

One afternoon they turned into an unfrequented road that led off to the jungle from the main highway, walking their horses while they marvelled at the beauty of the foliage. The trail they knew led to a coffee plantation far up among the hills, but it was so little travelled that the verdure brushed them as they went, and in many places they passed beneath a roof of branches. Before they had penetrated a quarter of a mile they were in the midst of an unbroken solitude, shut off from the world by a riotous glory of green, yellow, and crimson. They had not spoken for a long time, and were feeling quite content with the pleasant monotony of— their journey, when they burst out into a rocky glen where a spring of clear water bubbled forth. With a common impulse they reined in; Twenty feet farther on the trail twisted into the screen of verdure and was lost.

"What a discovery!" exclaimed Edith. "Help me down, please, I'm going to drink."

Kirk dismounted and lent her a hand; the horses snorted appreciatively, and stepping forward, thrust their soft muzzles eagerly into the stream, then fell to browsing upon the tender leaves at their shoulders.

Edith quenched her thirst, shook the cramp from her limbs, and said: "Some time we will have to see where this road leads. There may be more surprises beyond." She broke a flower from its stem and fastened it in Kirk's buttonhole, while he gazed down at her with friendly eyes.

"You're looking awfully well lately," he declared.

Glancing up, she met his gaze and held it for an instant. "It's the open air and the exercise. I enjoy these rides with you more than I can say." Something in her look gave him a little thrill of embarrassment.

"I think I'll give Marquis and Gyp their dessert," he said, and, turning aside, began to gather a handful of the greenest leaves. The instant his eyes were off her, she took the horses by their bridles, swung them about, and with a sharp blow of her riding- crop sent them snorting and clattering down the trail. Kirk wheeled barely in time to see them disappearing.

"Here!" he cried, sharply. "What are you doing?"

"They bolted."

"They'll hike straight for town. Now I'll have to chase—" He glanced at her sharply. "Say, why did you do that?"

"Because I wanted to. Isn't that reason enough?" Her eyes were reckless and her lips white.

"You shouldn't do a thing like that!" he cried, gruffly. "It's foolish. Now I'll have to run them down."

"Oh, you can't catch them."

"Well, I'll have a try at it, anyhow." He tossed away his handful of leaves.

"Silly! I did it because I wanted to talk with you."

"Well, those horses wouldn't overhear."

"Don't be angry, Kirk. I haven't seen you alone since that night."

"Taboga?" he said, guiltily. "You're not going to lecture me again? I'm sorry enough as it is." Never in all his life had he felt more uncomfortable. He could not bring himself to meet her gaze, feeling that his own face must be on fire.

"What a queer chap you are! Am I so unattractive that you really want to rush off after those horses?" He said nothing, and she went on after a moment of hesitation: "I have known men who would have thought it a privilege to be left alone with me like this."

"I—have no doubt."

"You remember, for instance, I told you there was one man at Taboga whom I did not wish to see?"

"Yes—at the sanitarium."

"Well, something like this happened once—with him—and I told Stephen."

"And did you tell Mr. Cortlandt what I did?"

"Do you think I would have come riding with you if I had?" She shook her head. "Kirk, I used to think you were an unusually forward young man, but you're not very worldly, are you?"

"N-no—yes! I guess I'm as wise as most fellows."

"Sometimes I think you are very stupid."

He began firmly: "See here, Mrs. Cortlandt, you have been mighty good to me, and I'm indebted to you and your husband for a whole lot. I am terribly fond of you both."

She clipped a crimson bloom from its stem with a vicious blow of her crop, then, with eyes fixed upon the fallen flower, broke the awkward pause that followed.

"I suppose," she said, half defiantly, "you know how things are with Stephen and me—everybody must know, I suppose. I have done a lot of thinking lately, and I have made up my mind that the last appeal of what is right or wrong lies with one's self. I'm not going to care any longer what the world thinks of my actions so long as my own heart justifies them. Happiness—that is what I want, and I will have it—I will have it at any cost. It is my right. Because a woman marries without love, is it right for her to forego love all her life? I think not."

She looked up, and with a change of tone ran on swiftly: "I have studied you for a long time, Kirk. I know the sort of man you are. I know you better than you know yourself. Very lately I have begun to study myself, too, and I know, at last, the sort of woman I am." She drew near and laid a hand on each shoulder, forcing him to look straight into her eyes. "I am not like most women; I can't do things by halves; I can't temporize with vital things; I prefer to experiment, even blindly. I used to think I was born to rule, but I think now that a woman's only happiness lies in serving; and I used to believe I was contented, when all the time I was waiting for something and didn't know it. Don't be silly now; you're just like every other man."

"I can't pretend to misunderstand you, although—Listen!" He cut his words short. "Here comes some one."

She turned her head, as from the direction their mounts had taken came the sound of approaching hoots.

"Natives from the hills." She nodded carelessly toward the purple mountains back of them. But the next moment she gave a little gasp of consternation. Out from the overhung path, with a great rustling of leaves, came, not the expected flea-bitten Panama horse, but a familiar bay, astride of which was Stephen Cortlandt. He was leading Marquis and Gyp by their bridles, and reined in at sight of his wife and her companion.

"Hello!" he said. "I caught your horses for you."

"Jove! That's lucky!" Kirk greeted the husband's arrival with genuine relief. "They bolted when we got down to take a drink, and we were getting ready for a long walk. Thanks, awfully."

"No trouble at all. I saw them as they came out on the main road." Cortlandt's pigskin saddle creaked as he bent forward to deliver the reins. He was as cool and immaculate as ever. He met Edith's eyes without the slightest expression. "Nice afternoon for a ride."

"If I had known you were riding to-day you might have come with us," she said.

He smiled in his wintry fashion, then scanned the surroundings appreciatively.

"Pretty spot, isn't it? If you are going back, I'll ride with you."

"Good enough. May I give you a hand, Mrs. Cortlandt?" Kirk helped Edith to her seat, at which her husband bowed his thanks. Then the three set out in single file.

"Which way?" inquired Stephen as they reached the highroad.

"Back to town, I think," Edith told him, "And you?"

"I'm not ready yet. See you later." He raised his hat and cantered easily away, while the other two turned their horses' heads toward the city.



XXI

THE REST OF THE FAMILY

The time for Senor Garavel's return having arrived, Kirk called at the bank, and found not the least difficulty in gaining an audience. Indeed, as soon as he had reminded the banker of their former meeting, he was treated with a degree of cordiality that surpassed his expectations.

"I remember quite well, sir," said Garavel—"'La Tosca.' Since you are a friend of Mrs. Cortlandt I shall be delighted to serve you."

Now that they were face to face, Kirk felt that he distinctly approved of Chiquita's father. This dignified, distinguished- looking gentleman awaited his pleasure with an air of leisurely courtesy that would have made him under other circumstances very easy of approach. But there was a keenness in his dark eyes that suggested the futility of beating round the bush. Kirk felt suddenly a little awkward.

"I have something very particular to say to you," he began, diffidently, "but I don't know just how to get at it."

Garavel smiled graciously. "I am a business man."

"This isn't business," blurted Kirk; "it's much more important. I want to have it over as quickly as possible, so I'll be frank. I have met your daughter, Mr. Garavel"—the banker's eyes widened in a look of disconcerting intensity—"and I am in love with her— sort of a shock, isn't it? It was to me. I'd like to tell you who I am and anything else you may wish to know."

"My dear sir, you surprise me—if you are really serious. Why, you have seen her but once—a moment, at the theatre!"

"I met her before that night, out at your country place. I had been hunting, and on my way home through the woods I stumbled upon your swimming-pool. She directed me to the road."

"But even so!"

"Well, I loved her the first instant I saw her."

"I knew nothing of this. If you had reason to think that your suit would be acceptable, why did you not come to me before?"

"I couldn't. I didn't know your name. I was nearly crazy because I couldn't so much as learn the name of the girl I loved!" Kirk plunged confusedly into the story of his search for Chiquita.

"That is a strange tale," said Senor Garavel, when he had finished—"a very strange tale—and yet you did well to tell it me. At present I do not know what to think. Young men are prone to such romantic fancies, rash and ill-considered. They are, perhaps, excusable, but—-"

"Oh, I suppose you can't understand how a fellow falls so deep in love on such short acquaintance, but I have been brooding over this for months—there's nothing hasty or ill-considered about it, I can assure you. I am terribly hard hit, sir; it means everything to me."

"If you would tell me something about yourself, I might know better in what light to regard this affair."

"Gladly—though there isn't much to tell. Just now I'm working on the P.R.R. as assistant to Runnels—the Master of Transportation, you know. I like the work and expect to be promoted. I have a little money—just enough to give me a fresh start if I should lose out here, and—oh, well, I'm poor but honest; I suppose that's about the size of it." He paused, vaguely conscious that he had not done himself justice. What else was there to say about Kirk Anthony? Then he added as an afterthought:

"My father is a railroad man, in Albany, New York."

"In what capacity is he employed, may I ask?" said Garavel, showing something like real interest.

Kirk grinned at this, and, seeing a copy of Bradstreet's on the banker's table, turned to his father's name, which he pointed out rather shamefacedly. Senor Garavel became instantly less distant.

"Of course the financial world knows Darwin K. Anthony," said he. "Even we modest merchants of the tropics have heard of him; and that his son should seek to win success upon his own merits is greatly to his credit. I congratulate you, sir, upon your excellent progress."

"I hope to make good," said Kirk, simply, "and I think I can." Then he flushed and hesitated as a realization of the situation swept over him. Could he gain the favor of Chiquita's father under false pretences? Surely it was only just that a man should stand upon his own merits, and yet—it didn't seem quite right. At length, he said, with an effort:

"I ought to tell you, sir, that I am not on good terms with my father, at present. In fact, he has cast me off. That is why I am here supporting myself by hard work, instead of living in idleness. But I'm beginning to like the work—and I'll make good— I'll do it if only to show my father his mistake. That's what I care about most. I don't want his money. It's easier to make money than I thought. But I must succeed, for his sake and my own."

Despite his embarrassment, his face shone with sudden enthusiasm. He looked purposeful and aggressive, with a certain sternness that sat well upon his young manhood. Garavel lifted his brows.

"May I inquire the cause of this—estrangement?"

"Oh, general worthlessness on my part, I suppose. Come to think of it, I must have been a good deal of a cross. I never did anything very fierce, though." He smiled a little sadly. "I don't wonder that I fail to impress you."

A quick light of thought flashed through the banker's eyes. He was a keen judge of men.

"Well, well," he said, with a trace of impatience, "there is no need to go into the matter further. Your proposal is impossible— for many reasons it is impossible, and yet—your spirit is commendable."

"Does that mean you won't even allow me to see your daughter?"

"It would be useless."

"But I love Gertrudis," said Kirk, desperately.

Garavel looked a trifle pitying.

"You are by no means the first," he said; "I have been besieged by many, who say always the same thing—without Gertrudis they cannot, they will not, they should not live. And yet I have heard of no deaths. At first I was greatly concerned about them—poor fellows—but most of them are married now, so I not do take your words too seriously." He laughed good-naturedly. "You unemotional Americans do not love at first sight."

"I_ do, sir."

"Tut! It is but admiration for a beautiful girl who—I say it—is wicked enough to enjoy creating havoc. Take time, my boy, and you will smile at this madness. Now, let us talk of something else."

"It is no use, sir, I have it bad."

"But when you make such a request as this, you assume to know the young lady's wishes in the matter."

"Not at all. Without your consent I don't believe she'd allow herself to even like me. That is why I want to fix it with you first."

"In that, at least, you are quite right, for Gertrudis is a good girl, and obedient, as a general rule; but—it is impossible. Her marriage has been arranged."

"Do you think that is quite fair to her? If she loves Ramon Alfarez—-"

Once again Garavel's brows signalled surprise. "Ah, you know?"

"Yes, sir. I was about to say, if she really loves him, I can't make any difference; but suppose she should care for me?"

"Again it could make no difference, once she had married Ramon. But she is too young to know her own mind. These young girls are impressionable, romantic, foolish. I can see no object in deliberately courting trouble. Can you? In affairs of the heart it is well to use judgment and caution—qualities which come only with age. Youth is headstrong and blinded by dreams, hence it is better that marriage should be arranged by older persons."

"Exactly! That's why I want you to arrange mine." The banker smiled in spite of himself, for he was not without a sense of humor, and the young man's sincerity was winning.

"It is out of the question," he said; "useless to discuss. Forgetting for the moment all other considerations, there is an obstacle to your marriage into a Spanish family, which you do not stop to consider—one which might well prove insurmountable. I speak of religion."

"No trouble there, sir."

"You are, then, a Catholic?"

"It was my mother's faith, and I was brought up in it until she died. After that, I—sort of neglected it. You see, I am more of a Catholic than anything else."

"What we call a 'bad Catholic'?"

"Yes, sir. But if I were not, it wouldn't make any difference. Chiquita is my religion." "Who?" The father started.

"I—I call her that," Kirk explained, in confusion. "To myself, of course."

"Indeed! So do I," said Senor Garavel, dryly. For a moment he frowned in meditation. There were many things to consider. He felt a certain sympathy for this young man, with his straightforwardness and artless brusquerie. Moreover, though the banker was no great respecter of persons, the mention of Darwin K. Anthony had impressed him. If Kirk were all that he seemed, he had no doubt of the ultimate reconciliation of father and son. At all events, it would do no harm to learn more of this extraordinary suitor, and meanwhile he must treat him with respect while carefully guarding his own dignity against possibly impertinent advances.

"She has been promised to Ramon," he said, at last, "and I have considered her future quite settled. Of course, such arrangements are frequently altered for various causes, even at the last moment, but—quien sabe?" He shrugged his shoulders. "She may not wish to entertain your suit. So why discuss it? Why make plans or promises? It is a matter to be handled with the greatest delicacy; there are important issues linked with it. Where there is the prospect of an alliance between two houses—of business or politics—you will understand that according to our ideas, those considerations must govern—absolutely. Otherwise—I do not know— I can say nothing to encourage you except—that, for a young man I have known so very short a time"—he smiled genially—"you have impressed me not unfavorably. I thank you for coming to me, at any rate."

The two men rose and shook hands; Kirk was not altogether cast down by the result of the interview. He understood the banker's allusion to the possible change of arrangements, and felt sure from what Chiquita had told him that the marriage with Ramon could not take place after the true nature of Garavel's political aspirations became known. In that case, if all went well, it did not seem impossible that Garavel would give his consent, and then Gertrudis alone would remain to be won. If, on the other hand, her father refused his permission—well, there are many ways of winning a bride. Kirk believed in his lucky star, and had a constitutional inability to imagine failure.

The truth was that Andres Garavel had not hesitated long after that memorable night at the Tivoli before accepting the brilliant prize which the Cortlandts had dangled so alluringly before his eyes, and, the decision once made, he had entered into the scheme with all his soul. He was wise enough, however, to leave his destiny largely in their hands. This meant frequent councils among the three, a vast amount of careful work, of crafty intrigue, of untiring diplomacy, and, although his candidacy had not as yet been more than whispered, the purple robe of power was daily being woven, thread by thread.

It was not long after Kirk's visit to the bank that Garavel, during one of these conferences, took occasion to bring up the young man's name. Cortlandt had been called to the telephone, and Edith was left free to answer without constraint.

"I have seen you and him riding quite frequently," her guest remarked, with polite interest. "Is he, then, an old friend?"

"Yes, we are very fond of him."

"Your Mr. Runnels believes him most capable; we were speaking of him but yesterday."

"Oh, he will be successful, if that's what you mean; I shall see to that. He has his father's gift for handling men—-"

"You know his father?"

"Not personally, only by reputation. Kirk will be promoted soon, by-the-way, although he doesn't know it. He is to replace Runnels as soon as he is able."

"Remarkable—and yet I have seen the marvels you work, dear lady. But is not this a strange sphere of activity for the son of Darwin K. Anthony?"

"Oh, he had some kind of falling-out with his father, I believe, which occasioned his coming here. There was nothing really to Kirk's discredit—of that I am perfectly sure."

"It would be unfortunate, indeed, if this breach between father and son should prove serious."

"Oh, I dare say it won't. Kirk is certain to succeed, and old Anthony will come round, if I know American fathers."

Garavel smiled, well pleased that he had treated his recent visitor with proper consideration. After all, why not invite the young fellow to his house? That would be rather a significant step according to Spanish custom; yet he need not be bound by it. He could put a stop to the affair at any time. Besides, despite his frequent protestations to the contrary, he was somewhat influenced by his daughter's desire for more liberty. It was not fair to her, he thought in his heart, that she should know only Ramon. One reason especially appealed to his pride. If a break came between him and Alfarez, Ramon must not appear to have jilted Gertrudis. If, meanwhile, she had another suitor, and one of distinguished family, the affair would wear a better look. It cannot be denied that the name of Darwin K. Anthony rang musically in his ears.

"The boy has the right stuff in him," Edith went on. "He began at the bottom, only a few months ago, preferring to work his way up, though he was offered a first-rate position to begin with."

She would have said more, but just at that moment her husband entered. "You were saying that Alfarez suspects," said Cortlandt, addressing Garavel. "Has he said anything?"

"Not to me, as yet, but he surely must know; the rumors must have reached him. He is cold—and Ramon acts queerly. I feel guilty— almost as if I had betrayed a friend."

"Nonsense! There is no room for fine scruples in politics. We mustn't be in too great a hurry, though. Things are going smoothly, and when the time comes you will be called for. But it must be the voice of the people calling. Bocas, Chiriqui, Colon— they must all demand Garavel." Cortlandt sighed. "I shall be very glad when it is over." He looked more pale, more bloodless, more world-weary than ever.

"You need have no fear that it will cause serious trouble between you and the General," Mrs. Cortlandt assured Garavel. "Ramon should be able to effect peace, no matter what happens."

"Ah, I am not so sure that there will be a marriage between Gertrudis and him. Young ladies are most uncertain when allowed the slightest liberty."

"Is she growing rebellious?" Cortlandt inquired. "If I were you, then, I wouldn't force her. A loveless marriage is a tragic thing."

His wife nodded her agreement.

"Not exactly rebellious. She would do whatever I asked regardless of her own feelings, for that is the way we Spaniards bring up our daughters, but—she is cold to Ramon, and he, I believe, is suspicious of my intentions toward his father. Therefore, the situation is strained. It is very hard to know what is right in a case of this sort. The young are impressionable and reckless. Often what seems to them distasteful is in reality a blessing. It is not every love-match that turns out so happily as yours, my dear friends. Well, I suppose I am weak. With Gertrudis I cannot be severe; but unless it becomes necessary to make conditions with my old friend Alfarez, I should prefer to let the girl have her own way."

As Cortlandt escorted his caller to the door, the Panamanian paused and said, with genuine solicitude:

"You look badly, sir. I am afraid you work too hard. I would not easily forgive myself if this affair of ours caused you to fall ill."

"Oh, I am all right—a little tired, that's all. I don't sleep well."

"It is worry over this thing."

Cortlandt smiled crookedly. "I am not the one to worry; I am not the one at the head. Surely you know what people say—that I am her office-boy?"

Garavel found it hard to laugh this off gracefully. "You are too modest," he said. "I admire the trait, but I also chance to know the wonderful things you have accomplished. If people say such things, it is because they do not know and are too small to understand your voluntary position. It is very fine of you to let your wife share your work, senor." But he shook his head as the door closed behind him, really doubting that Cortlandt would prove physically equal to the coming struggle.

It was about this time—perhaps two weeks after Kirk had replied to his father's letter—that Runnels called him in one day to ask:

"Do you know a man named Clifford?"

"No."

"He dropped in this morning, claiming to be a newspaper man from the States; wanted to know all about everything on the Canal and— the usual thing. He didn't talk like a writer, though. I thought you might know him; he asked about you."

"Me?" Kirk pricked up his ears.

"I gathered the impression he was trying to pump me." Runnels eyed his subordinate shrewdly. "I boosted you."

"Is he short and thick-set?"

"No. Tall and thin." As Kirk merely looked at him in a puzzled way, he continued: "I suppose we're all suspicious down here, there's so much of that sort of thing. If he has anything on you—"

"He's got nothing on me."

"I'm glad of that. You're the best man I have, and that shake-up I told you about is coming off sooner than I expected. I'd hate to have anything happen to you. Do you think you could hold down my job?"

"WHAT? Do you really mean it?"

"I do."

"I think I could, if you would help me."

Runnels laughed. "That remark shows you haven't developed Isthmitis, anyhow."

"What is that?"

"Well, it's a sort of mental disorder most of us have. We believe everybody above us is incompetent, and everybody below us is after our jobs. You'll get it in time—even some of the Commissioners have it."

"It goes without saying that I'd like to be Master of Transportation, but not until you're through."

"Well, the old man has had another row with Colonel Jolson, and may not wait for his vacation to quit. I'm promised the vacancy."

"Then you have seen the Colonel?"

"No—but I have seen Mrs. Cortlandt. I felt I had a right to ask something from her in return for what I did for you. I know that sounds rotten, but you'll understand how it is. Colonel Jolson wants his brother-in-law, Blakeley, to have the place, but I'm entitled to it, and she has promised to fix it for me. If I go up, you go, too; that's why I was worried when this Clifford party appeared."

"There IS something, I suppose, I ought to tell you, although it doesn't amount to much. I was mixed up in a scrape the night I left New York. A plain-clothes man happened to get his head under a falling bottle and nearly died from the effects."

"What was the trouble?"

"It really wasn't the least bit of trouble, it was fatally easy. We were out on a grape carnival, six of us. It was an anti- prohibition festival, and he horned in."

"There is nothing else?"

"Nothing."

"Well, this Clifford party is stopping at the Hotel Central. Better look him over."

"I will," said Kirk, feeling more concern than he cared to show, but his apprehension turned out to be quite unfounded. On inspection, Clifford proved to bear no resemblance whatever to Williams, nor did he seem to have any concealed design. He was a good sort, apparently, with a knack of making himself agreeable, and in the weeks that followed he and Kirk became quite friendly. Meanwhile, no word had come from Senor Garavel, and Kirk was beginning to fret. But just as he had reached the limit of his patience he received a note which transported him with joy.

Senor Andres Garavel, he read, would be in the city on the following Tuesday evening, and would be pleased to have him call.

Even with his recent experiences of Spanish etiquette, Kirk hardly realized the extent of the concession that had been made to him. He knew nothing of the tears, the pleadings, and the spirited championship of his cause that had overborne the last parental objection. It was lucky for him that Chiquita was a spoiled child, and Garavel a very Americanized Spaniard. However, as it was, he went nearly mad with delight, and when Tuesday came round he performed his office-work so badly that Runnels took him to task.

"What the devil has got into you the last few days?" he exclaimed, irritably.

"I'm going to see a certain party to-night and I can't contain myself. I'm about to blow up. That's all."

"Woman, eh?"

Kirk grinned. "It has taken months, and I'd begun to think I wasn't wanted. Oh, I've had a battle."

"Anybody I know?"

"Yes, but I can't talk about her. There's a man in the case, see! I'm going slow to start with."

Runnels, who had never seen Kirk with any woman except Edith Cortlandt, formed his own conclusions, helped a bit, perhaps, by the memory of that conversation with John Weeks on the day of their ride across the Isthmus. That these conclusions were not pleasing to him, he showed when he returned to his office. He stood an instant in thought, looking rather stern, then murmured, half aloud: "That's one thing I wouldn't stand for."

Kirk had hard work to refrain from shaving himself twice that evening, so overcareful was he about his toilet, yet his excitement was as nothing compared to that of Allan, who looked on with admiration tempered by anxious criticism. The boy, it seemed, appropriated to himself the entire credit for the happy ending of this affair.

"It will be a grand wedding, sar," he exclaimed. "H'Allan will be there for giving you away."

"You don't know enough about me to give me away," Kirk returned, lightly.

"I shall be needing some h'expensive garments for the ceremony. I would h'ahsk you to be so kind—"

"Not too fast. It hasn't gone quite that far yet."

"But I shall need to have those garments made by a tailor, and that will require time. They will be made precisely to resemble yours, then nobody can tell h'us apart."

"That's considered genuine flattery, I believe."

"Would you do me a favor, Master h'Auntony?"

"Surest thing you know."

"I shall be waiting in the street to-night. Could you h'arrange to h'ahsk those fatal questions h'adjoining the window so that I might h'overhear?"

"NO! And I don't want you prowling around outside, either. You're not to follow me, understand! I have enough on my mind as it is."

The residence of Senor Garavel is considered one of the show places of Panama. It is of Spanish architecture, built of brick and stucco, and embellished with highly ornamental iron balconies. It stands upon a corner overlooking one of the several public squares, guarded from the street by a breast-high stone wall crowned with a stout iron fence. Diagonally opposite and running the full length of the block is a huge weather-stained cathedral, the front of which is decorated with holy figures, each standing by itself in a separate niche. In the open church tower are great chimes which flood the city with melody, and in the corner fronting upon the intersecting street is a tiny shrine with an image of the Madonna smiling downward. It is only a little recess in the wall, with barely room for a few kneeling figures, but at night its bright radiance illumines the darkness round about and lends the spot a certain sanctity.

Contrary to the usual custom, the Garavel mansion has a narrow yard, almost smothered in tropical plants that crowd one another through the iron bars and nod at the passers-by. Riotous vines half screen the balconies: great overhanging red-tiled eaves give the place an air of coziness which the verdure enhances. A subdued light was glowing from the lower windows when Anthony mounted the steps and rang.

An Indian woman, clad in barbarous colors, her bare feet encased in sandals, admitted him, and the banker himself met him in the hall. He led the way into a great barren parlor, where, to Kirk's embarrassment, he found quite a company gathered. His host formally presented him to them, one after another. There were Senor Pedro Garavel, a brother of Andres; Senora Garavel, his wife, who was fat and short of wind; the two Misses Garavel, their daughters; then a little, wrinkled, brown old lady in stiff black silk who spoke no English. Kirk gathered that she was somebody's aunt or grandmother. Last of all, Gertrudis came shyly forward and put her hand in his, then glided back to a seat behind the old lady. Just as they were seating themselves another member of the family appeared—this time a second cousin from Guatemala. Like the grandmother, he was as ignorant of English as Kirk was of Spanish, but he had a pair of frightfully intense black eyes with which he devoured the American. These orbs exercised an unusual effect upon the caller; they were unwinking, the lids were wide open, and the brilliance of the pupils was heightened by the startling whiteness surrounding them. They were like the eyes of a frightened horse.

It was very trying to be the target of so many glances and to know that he was being studied like a bug beneath a microscope, yet Kirk managed to keep a degree of self-possession, making up his mind to display a modest reticence that could not help appearing admirable. But he soon found that this did not suit. Instead of resuming their conversation, the entire assemblage of Garavels waited calmly for their caller to begin, and he realized in a panic that he was expected to make conversation. He cast about madly for a topic.

His host helped him to get started, and he did fairly well until one of the Misses Garavel began to translate his remarks to the old lady and the ferocious cousin from Guatemala. As their replies were not rendered into English, he was left stranded. He knew that his whole salvation lay in properly impressing his auditors, so he began again and floundered through a painful monologue. It was not at all pleasant. It was like being initiated into some secret order. These strange people sitting so stiff and watchful formed an inquisitorial body. The night suddenly turned off swelteringly hot; perspiration began to trickle down his brow, his collar became a tourniquet, and he cast appealing glances at the silent figure hidden demurely behind the rustly old lady in the black harness. The look of mingled pity and understanding she gave him somewhat revived his fainting spirit, and he determined to stick it out until the family were ready to retire and allow him a word with her alone. But, idle hope! Gradually it dawned upon him that they had no such intention. To relieve the strain, he became facetious and told funny stories; but this was an unlucky experiment, for his witticisms fell with a ghastly hollowness. No one laughed save the grandmother and the Guatemalan cousin, who could not understand, and at this Kirk fled helter-skelter from the realms of humor.