|SO spoke Jimmie Hagan. We sat looking at each other, and smoking
silently for a moment. I got up and shooed the motley collection of
human things around us back to a pleasanter distance, and sat down again
to think. But still I didn't see altogether what Mrs. Ulswater thought
she was going to do with her insurrection. It was a good idea of hers
to keep Chepa aboard the _Violetta_. But a mob is like dynamite, and a
person ought to have a considerable idea before he takes it on himself
to explode one. A Portate mob is a maniac that cuts throats in the name
of the saints, and forgets what started him, and he scatters destruction
in all directions. For a man said to be without sand, I thought Hagan
had done pretty well.
“Sor,” he said, “it's this way. I knew the Mayor long ago, an' Sadler
knew him well, an' I know the Mayor's the same man wid the tempestchus
bowels of him, for he's a nice man when he's cheerful, but he's not a
wise man when there's trouble comin'. Well, sor, Sadler nor the docther
ain't here, an' what one of them doesn't know the other does. An' some
men was born to order and others to take orders, an' I dunno. But, if
the Kid was here things'd be doin'. Well, sor, the docther is filled
up wid handy knowledge more'n a bushel of pertaties wid perta-ties,
but when it comes to makin' up his mind, it's the missis does it.
The _Violetta_ carries more contagious brains than's native in South
America, an' you're askin' what the missis had in mind, an' I dunno.
But Chepa says there's only two men in Por-tate can start them disabled
machines for to-night's lightin', to say nothin' there's not a trolley
runnin' in the city this day. An' where's those two men? One of 'em's
here. The other's on the _Violetta_, but the Mayor don't know where he
is. Well, sor, what can he do? It's not for me to say, but there's
the populace shlingin' stones at the City Hall this blissid minute
in persuasion of the Mayor's wickedness. An' who persuaded 'em of the
Mayor's wickedness? Trolleys they don't so much care for, but there'll
be lights or shootin', an' the Mayor'd needn't be foolish, an if ye ask
me, I'll say it's the missis has got the soople intilligence, an' no
throuble at all. Hark to 'em now!”
The roar of the crowd had grown to be tremendous, and they were probably
throwing stones. What, indeed, could the Mayor do? The peons about
us were chattering in excited groups, and the guards at the gate were
distinctly uneasy. If the mob came there, I could make a fair guess what
the guards would do.
There was a sudden clatter in the streets, of hoofs and wheels on bad
pavement. Again the great wooden door flew open with a bang. Entered the
paymaster, another agitated official, and an officer in pink and white,
who bowed and smiled at me affectionately.
“You are released, senor,” said the officer.
“Oh, I am! And this gentleman too?”
“Impossible, senor. His Excellency is determined. With you, senor, he
requests a friendly interview.”
“He won't get it.”
“His Excellency is in a carriage at the door.”
It was not fifty feet to the open door. His Excellency seemed to have
lost flesh with the excitement and anguish of his mind.
“Oo-aa!” came over from the Plaza, that indescribable roar.
“Oh, senor!” he cried with enthusiasm. “It is the will of the people
that we be reconciled. Enough. We are reconciled.”
“Not yet, Mayor. My red-haired friend here----”
“Impossible!”
“Not a light, then. Bury it all, Mayor. The wisest plan.”
“But the proclamations! Abominable, public, infamous!”
“Oh, quite wrong, of course.”
“You admit it!”
“He must be pardoned.”
“To-morrow.”
“Now!”
“Oo-aa!” from the Plaza, that hair-raising yell.
The Mayor shivered. Then he gathered up his dignity with the
gracefulness of a lady picking up her skirts, and finished the game like
a fallen but romantic potentate. “Enough,” he said. “I yield.”
We drove to the Plaza, Jimmie Hagan on the carriage-springs behind, the
Mayor and I standing on the seat and holding hands for the public to see
the unlimited affection we had; the paymaster and the officer in pink
and white on the seat facing, waving their hats with unnatural joy, and
the other official on the seat with the driver.
But what a sight was the Plaza! What a howling mass of faces, open
mouths, hands gesticulating, all fading and dimly seen at a few hundred
feet from the carriage, for the night was falling fast.
“Excellency,” I said, “you owe me thirty thousand dollars. We'll stop at
the bank.”
“Just at present, senor, the public's balance is low, but----”
“On the contrary--or rather, we'll step in and see.”
“To-morrow, senor----”
“Excellency,” I said, “I don't care one little bit at all whether it's
out of the city's deposit, or your private account, or whether there's
any difference between them. But there won't be a light till every
dollar is paid. Moreover, this mob is nervous. Moreover, here's the
bank.”
We got down, and left the pink and white officer in the carriage with
the two other officials. The Mayor stalked grimly ahead of me into the
bank, and the thirty thousand was paid.
I made the plant in a carriage in ten minutes. Three scared furnace
tenders were there, in charge of a company of pink soldiers. Among them
they had two dynamos more or less mutilated trying to switch them
on with a pick-axe. At last I got things running, turned on the main
switch, and saw the nearby streets leap into brightness.
When Hagan and I came back through the town about eight o'clock, the
band was playing in the Plaza, the people rejoicing among the palm
trees, which were done up in bunting, and the Mayor was making a speech
from the balcony of magistrates to the effect that Portate was a centre
of civilisation, a second Paris.
It occurred to me that I was carrying thirty thousand dollars in my
pocket, and wasn't a steel vault. The lights were going anyway for
to-night, and maybe some public functionary's private bandit might be
looking for me. I ought to have deposited before going to the plant, or
perhaps--but there was the _Violetta_, which would be safer still.
We dodged the Plaza, and went down to the docks. Not a boatman
was about. I untied a row boat, and we rowed out, looking for the
_Violetta_. It was easy to distinguish her, clean and white, glimmering
with bright port-holes. As we drew near we could see the polished
brasses shining under the stars. The cool sea wind on the bay and the
soft lapping of waves against the boat were pleasant to feel and hear,
after the heat and noise of Portate. The sight of the _Violetta_, neat
and compact, made me homesick for the temperate zone and my own people
of the North, gray-eyed level-headed people, steady and reasonable. I
felt like a carrier pigeon come home.
“_Violetta_, ahoy!”