II

When Kieran came on deck again the third officer had gone forward, but

the passenger was still on one of the towing bitts and still smoking.

Kieran, strolling to the taffrail, resumed his study of the tossing

ship's wake and the cavorting barge in tow. When he seemed to have

settled the matter to his satisfaction, he seated himself on the other

towing bitt.

"You can get an idea into your head and sometimes it'll swing you

around like that barge on the end of that hawser, won't it? Or perhaps

your mind don't run that way?"

"I don't see," retorted the passenger, "that that barge has to stick

there forever. What's to prevent her from making a leap and fetching up

suddenly, and if she did she'd part that hawser like a piece of twine."

"Yes, but she won't make the leap--not till something outside of herself

drives her to it. If a sea should rise, or a gale of wind, she might.

But it would take something like that. In the meantime she points this

way and that, slewing now to this side--see--and now to the other--but

never getting away from this ship which has her in tow. Our course must

be her course."

"Yes, I suppose that is so."

"Well, then, Cogan that I've been telling you about was nearly always in

tow of a force that seemed to be outside of himself. A storm, a high

sea, or a gale of wind in his case would be an upheaval of his soul

like. But in those days he hadn't come to that. Maybe he was still only

half awake. Martin Jackson, sitting out on the sidewalk of his Fourth of

July saloon, came nearer to making him think than all of the school

teachers he'd ever seen. Maybe, too, life was too smooth in those days.

However, he was always in tow of some fancy or other. And one day,

being free of the navy, he went to Peru."

'"Twas love at first sight then with that young Peruvian girl on the

beach?"

"No, I don't think so--not quite that. Even at that age Cogan could not

fall in love with curves and color alone. At any rate, he put out to

sea; and the beauty of the little Peruvian girl was with him in many a

night-watch. Under the stars he could shut his eyes and see her--the

flashing teeth as she grimaced up at the horrified nurse, and the eyes

still rioting after the curved lips were closed. And yet it was not her

beauty. A hundred rosy-marbled nymphs could have paraded the beach in a

thousand silvery dawns and, once out of sight, his heart never quicken

whatever it was--the innocence, the breathing innocence of her, it may

have been that. And yet there was something more. There must have been.

He gave it up, but he knew that if he had been born a girl he, too,

would want to paddle in the sea at dawn."

"A sort of poet?" suggested the passenger.

Kieran shot a side glance at the passenger. "H-m-m--a good thing he

didn't know it if he was. He was irresponsible enough without having

that excuse. If he thought then that it was poetry in him which kept him

hopping about the world, he'd have been no good at all. He did enough

dreaming as it was. It was probably only the discipline of a warship,

of having to do a daily stint, that kept him from loafing all his time

away, for, as maybe I've said, a power used to take hold of him at times

and swing him. An idea would come to him and he'd follow it like a guide

to heaven.

"He wondered what had become of her, and one day, being now free of the

navy, he took a bald-headed schooner out of Portland, Oregon, with a

load of lumber for Callao. Between watches he studied a

Spanish-Without-A-Master for one dollar. The lumber schooner never

reached Callao, but she did make one of those volcanic islands to the

south side of the harbor--piled up there and began to fill, which forced

the crew to leave in a hurry and row into Callao harbor in their

quarter-boat. From Callao the crew took a trolley to Lima to see the

American consul. In Lima they became scattered, and Cogan and an old

fellow named Tommie Jones found themselves together. Cogan had met

Tommie in a restaurant in Portland at about the time Tommie was taking

notice of a tall, well-nourished, red-headed lass waiting on table

there. Tommie was a hearty lad of fifty-four or so, and Cogan had helped

the little romance along, and because of his interest in the case was

how Cogan and Tommie came to ship together. Well, here was Tommie adrift

in Lima after five weeks to sea, and in all that time he hadn't had a

drink, and he wanted one now. He had no money, but Cogan had a

half-dollar, and American silver is good money in Peru; so Cogan bought

Tommie three drinks of some kind of Spanish wine and himself one

lemonade for the half-dollar.

"It couldn't have been the wine--he hadn't had enough of that. Maybe it

was the reaction from the excitement of the wreck that made Tommie

sleepy. He wanted to turn in, and it being now night-time they went into

a park where a fine band was playing. It was a beautiful night, with a

moon; and under the moon, while the music rolled out, dark-eyed

señoritas with their mothers strolled up and down, and the young fellows

hung around and got in a word when they could. On the edges the police

kept an eye on the loafers.

"The night breeze which made the trees almost talk, the water of the

fountain arching under the colored lights, the scent of the flowering

bushes--Tommie and Cogan after their five weeks at sea just sat there

till long after the music had stopped and everybody gone home. Then

Tommie fell asleep, full length under a tree. Cogan tried to stand watch

but he was tired, too, and after a while, with his back against the same

tree, and the water-play of the fountain still tinkling in his ears, he

fell asleep alongside Tommie.

"Cogan had a dream of somebody trying to pull his leg off and it woke

him. He looked down and saw that the lace of one of his shoes was

untied. He retied it and looked at his chum. He was still asleep,

snoring, but there was something missing. In half a minute, his brain

clearing, he saw that Tommie's shoes were gone, and also his hat, and

his pockets turned inside out. Cogan then noticed that his own trousers

pockets were turned inside out. He stood up and caught sight of two

fellows just dropping over the tall iron fence surrounding the park. The

gates of the park were closed, and locked, too, or so Cogan guessed, and

wasted no time in trying them. The fence was pretty high and had iron

spikes on top, and he felt somewhat stiff in his joints, but a hot

temper is good as a bath and a rub-down any time--Cogan vaulted the

fence, and the two natives just then turned and saw him. He was coming

on pretty fast and they threw up their hands, dropped the shoes and hat,

and went tearing away. Cogan had only to stoop down and pick up the

stuff, but it wasn't property he was after. To steal the shoes off of a

shipwrecked sailor! Even if they weren't told he was shipwrecked, they

ought to have guessed, or so he thought, and he held on after them, and

Cogan could run pretty well in those days. But so could one of those

fellows. Cogan could soon have caught the slow one, but he kept always

after the fast fellow and was feeling sure of his man when he took to

turning corners. They had come to a part of the city where the streets

were narrow and the blocks short. It seemed to Cogan there was a corner

every twenty feet, and it was up hill. His man turned one corner and

four seconds later Cogan turned it, and, his man not being in sight,

Cogan kept on and turned the next corner. Another twenty yards and he

ran up against a high wall. 'Wow,' says Cogan, but with a running high

jump, he got his fingers on top of the wall and hauled himself up. There

was nobody in sight on the other side. 'Trimmed!' says Cogan, and,

sitting on the wall, began to fan himself.

"It was bright light now and the city beginning to come awake. People

came out and took down the shutters of shops. Indian women went by with

loaded baskets of fruit, and other people drove little burros in carts

filled with eggs, chickens, and green stuff; and men and women, with

fish to sell in big dishes on their heads, came sliding by, and all

yelled loud enough to wake a watch below. Girls with baskets of flowers

went by, and one, looking up, spied Cogan and stopped and held her

basket up and made a motion for him to buy. He turned his pockets inside

out and threw his hands apart. That made her laugh, and she took a

flower from the basket, touched her lips to it and threw it up to him.

She was a pretty girl,--all the girls were pretty this morning,--but she

was prettiest of all, and the flower was of a big blue kind which Cogan

had never seen before. He blew a kiss after her and she went singing on

her way. Cogan sang a little himself. He was beginning to feel pretty

good.

"Boys came and gazed up at Cogan, and sometimes men, and some of them

laughed, but mostly they paid no attention to him. He heard a bell

tolling and he saw people below him filing toward a gate. They all

carried tin cups. He looked further and saw that it was a monastery they

were heading for, and that at the gate of the monastery two monks in

brown habits were passing out bread and filling the tin cups with

coffee. Cogan dropped over the wall, and when he saw that one man had

finished with his tin cup he asked him for it. He knew Spanish enough

for that. The man smiled and handed it over. Cogan went up to the

grating and a monk filled his tin cup with coffee. Another handed him

three slices of dark bread. Cogan thanked them, but the monks seemed not

to hear. He thanked them again, at which one monk, looking up, set a

finger to his lips and motioned him to step aside for the next.

"Cogan finished his breakfast, thanked the native for the loan of the

cup, and started to look around. He first tried to find the park where

he had left Tommie, but there were so many parks with trees and flowers

and fountains in them! He crossed a bridge over a river that must have

come tumbling all the way from the top of the Andes, it had such a head

of speed on. He patrolled he did not know how many streets, and at last

gave up hunting for Tommie, on whose account, anyway, he wasn't

worrying, for he knew that Tommie, an experienced old sailor man, had by

this time laid his course for the Consul's and been taken care of. He

sat on a bench at the curbstone in front of a fruit store to think

things over. It was a comfortable seat, except that every time a trolley

passed he had to lift his feet high so he wouldn't be swept off his

perch.

"As he sat there, a group of well-muscled, well-set-up young fellows

passed him. It was a cool, cheerful morning, and they appeared to be

full of play. Everybody did that morning in Lima. Cogan knew these at

once for some sort of athletes. They seemed to be well known to the

store-keepers and the small boys along the street. Their hair, or what

he could see of it, was clipped close. Not handsome men all, but all in

high favor. Girls flung back light words at them, or tapped them on the

arm in passing. Two girls pinned roses on the coats of two of them, who

took it all as though they were used to it. 'Big leaguers of some kind,'

thinks Cogan, and asked the fruit-stand keeper who they were, and the

fruit-seller said 'Torero.'

"'Torero? Torero?--Ah-h-h'--Cogan recalled his 'Spanish Without A

Master'--'Ah-h-h, of course, Toreros--Toreadors'--he remembered the

opera 'Carmen'--bull-fighters. Cogan got up and followed them.

"If Cogan had never seen a bull-ring, he would right away have known

this in Lima for one. It was a perfect circle, about two hundred feet

across, packed with what looked like hard sand and surrounded by a stout

stockade, and with seats enough for eight or ten thousand people. The

bull-fighters had not minded when he followed them in, and now he took a

seat on the empty benches and watched them at practice. They had a bull,

a lively one, but a well trained one, too, for when he knocked one of

them over he would stand still and not try to trample anybody. He would

reach down and prod with his horns, but, as he had a brass knob on each

horn, he couldn't hurt them much that way. The fellows with the red

capes practised all their tricks, the men with wooden stakes all covered

with paper streamers practised theirs, and Cogan's blood was racing in

his veins before they were through. These were great athletes--he saw

that at once--and with a savage bull with sharp-pointed hoofs and horns

in place of that trained manicured one--well, these men would be taking

chances which no athlete at home ever had to take, unless they were

aerial-bar men in the circus or loop-the-loopers or something like that.

"A few of these men, as Cogan looked on, stood out from the others; and

after a time from among those few stood one by himself. From the first

Cogan had noticed that he was very fast and clever--and strong, yes. It

was his quickness and skill, even more than his strength, which counted.

He used the bull's strength against the bull himself. He wasn't much

more than medium height or weight, but beautifully developed--they were

all finely developed men--and behind his muscular power was all kinds of

nervous energy. And a great way of doing things, not an extra motion of

any kind--no wasteful flourishes or posings. Not that he didn't have

style. Style!--he had so much of it that he didn't seem to be half

trying. Everything and everybody seemed to be playing into his

hands--even the bull. And he was such a human kind, laughing and joking

as he bounded and ran about! And he must have said many funny things,

they all laughed so; and he took a lot of trouble to coach some of them

in their practice.

"Cogan later saw him in the dressing-room. He came off the field before

the others, and while they were yet practising he had had his bath. He

was now dressing and Cogan saw that he wore fine linen and

fashionably-cut clothes. He had a room to himself off the main

dressing-room, and two attendants jumped to serve him. From time to

time, standing at the door of his dressing-room putting on a collar or

adjusting his tie, he would sweep a glance at Cogan. His eyes were

friendly. They were also of good size and deep-set, Cogan now had a

chance to see; but they had also an absent, wistful expression which

made Cogan wonder, for at this young fellow's age, and he the star of

the troupe, it's little in life should have been bothering him.

"By and by the others came in, and with their coming Cogan's favorite

was again lively and laughing. Soon he was ready for the street. And all

dressed up he was a great swell. As he passed out those in his way

skipped to one side, while those in the corners ran forward to catch his

eye and smile at him. 'Torellas, Torellas,' Cogan heard again and again

in the most admiring and affectionate tones.

"After he had gone out the door, Cogan asked one of the bull-fighters

who he was. But his 'Spanish Without A Master' didn't seem to be working

very well, and the man he questioned called out 'Ferrero--Oh, Ferrero!'

saying to Cogan 'Ferrero spik the Ingliss--O fine-a--good-a Ingliss.'

"A man that Cogan recognized as one of the liveliest performers in the

ring, though somewhat older than the others, came over and bowed

politely.

"'Señor, if you will tell me--who is Torellas?' asked Cogan in English.

"'Torellas'--Ferrero pointed toward the door--'he departed only one

moment ago.'

"'Señor, I saw, and thank you. But who is he?'

"'Torellas? Who ees Torellas?' Not only Ferrero, but every bull-fighter

in the place took a peek at Cogan. Ferrero looked around the room to

make sure the others had heard. 'He asks me'--or so Cogan guessed he

said, for now he was speaking Spanish--'he asks me who is Torellas!' at

which they all craned their necks to get another peek at Cogan, and

there was a lot of sputtering talk among them. Cogan guessed that they

were saying many very funny things about the man who did not know who

Torellas was. Ferrero turned to Cogan, now in English, 'Sir, a

stranger?' And Cogan said, 'Si, señor, a stranger--from the United

States.'

"And Ferrero said, 'Ah-h--Americano--cer-tain-ly,' in the most

charitable tone. 'Señor, I speak your language a leetla bit. It is true

I lived one time in your contry--a fine contry is U-ni-ted Stat-es--two

years--yes, sir, surely. Listen, please. Torellas, sir, he ees born

here, in thees very city, a Peruvian. We are proud of him. The

prodeegious skill, the strength, the light foot, the stroke of the

espada, the sword of Torellas--a descending thunderbolt it ees--but oh,

he ees not to be descripsheeoned. Some day you shall see--you shall not

depart until you have seen. Even now he ees in Peru--yes, sir--in all

South America the supreme matador. Soon--we have the assurance of it,

señor--he shall go to Spain, to Madrid, and in the great bull-ring there

he shall kill his bulls before the king and queen, and, have no fear,

señor, Spain shall also proclaim his superiority. Already, if he so

desires, fifty, seventy-five thousand--truly, sir--dollars gold in the

year--shall be his for his splendid genius. Yes, sir--and renown without

death. We are proud of him. Even now he ees with us--how shall I say

it?--ah, señor, even now, but at twenty years of age he ees with us as

the great John L. Sullivano was in United Stat-es when I lived there a

leetle boy--in New Yorrik--twenty years ago.'

"And Cogan said to himself--'This Torellas person must surely be some

class.'

"'And, señor--surely'--Ferrero had only stopped to get his breath--'it

would be criminal not to view Torellas in all his splendor--not as you

have viewed him this mor-rn-ing--that was play--but in the full

strength of his science, his art--deliverin-g, señor, the final stroke

to the ferocious bull.'

"Cogan also began to see that it would be a crime not to view the great

man in action, and he was also told that even more than Torellas the

matador they loved Torellas the man, the good comrade.

"Cogan became quite friendly with the bull-fighters. He inquired further

of Ferrero, who in the ring was a banderillo--that is, one of the people

who stick the decorated stakes in the bull's neck--possibly Señor

Ferrero knew of a mounted capeador by the name of Juan Roca.

"'Juan? Who does not? Yes, sir. Very much, sir,' and went on to tell

Cogan that Juan, the best mounted capeador in all South America, was

that very morning breaking in a new horse on the ranch of Don Vicente

Guillen outside the city.

"Ferrero was a most friendly person, and invited Cogan to eat with him,

and Cogan went. Ten or a dozen bull-fighters boarded in one place near

the bull-ring--a large, square, two-story adobe house; a grand house,

with walls painted in colors and splendid high rooms arranged around a

patio inside.

"It was now high noon, and warm enough in the sunny streets outside,

but in the patio it was cool, with a breeze from the Pacific, and after

lunch the bull-fighters sat around there and smoked cigarettes and

played stringed instruments, all but a few wild ones who went leaping

and springing about the garden walks. Cogan could not hide his interest

in this jumping exercise, and Ferrero, seeing it, invited him to join

in, which Cogan did, and beat everybody there jumping. He did so well

that Ferrero asked him if he could jump over a horse, and he said he'd

try it. So they went out and got a horse, and Cogan jumped over it. And

then they brought in another and placed the two side by side, and Cogan

jumped over the pair of them, at which they all shouted 'Bueno, bueno,

Americano!' and Ferrero slapped him on the back and told him he must

stay with them and practice bull-fighting.

"Cogan had another question. Was not the mounted capeador Juan Roca a

brother of Luis Roca, the hat dealer? And he was told that he was, and

that Luis Roca was now engaged in an enormous hat business with the

United States, and had grown very wealthy, thanks to the increase of

trade since the American occupation of the Isthmus. And Cogan inquired

further--was there a daughter who would be now about eighteen? 'A

daughter? Blood of a bull--surely.' And beautiful? Beautee-full! the

Señorita Roca beautee-full? Mother of God!' If he wished, he could post

himself on the Pasada that very afternoon--any afternoon--and see her

driving with her jolly good father or her proud mother, or it might be

with Señor Lorenzo de Guavera. 'And,' added Ferrero, 'you will meet Juan

there also--if he ees returned from the ranch.'

"In the cool of the afternoon they went to the Pasada, which is where

everybody in Lima who has a pair of horses and a coachman goes driving

of an afternoon. They pace up one side and down the other. Cogan never

saw so many fine horses and beautiful women in such a short time. And he

saw the hat dealer--the same lively, good-humored Grand Duke man to look

at, dressed in the same style of white ducks and big Panama hat, with

the same great beard down on his chest. Beside him was a stately,

beautiful girl. Cogan stared. He could see the resemblance right away.

'That must be an elder sister,' he thought, 'and that must be her

mother.' The mother was beautiful, too; but also she knew it. There was

also a well-set-up, well-dressed, well-groomed, distinguished looking

man.

"Cogan was staring after the carriage, when he heard a voice in his ear.

Ferrero was speaking to him. 'Ah-h, you know heem, Luis, Juan's brother,

yes? And the señora?--and the Señorita Valera?'

"'Valera? But that is not the little girl--'

"'Leetle girl?'

"'Has she not--the señorita--a younger sister?'

"'Sister? There ees no sister--only herself.'

"And so his little Valera had grown into that stately, self-possessed

young lady. Cogan felt sad.

"'And some say he ees to be betrothed to her, yes. Señor--Mister

Guavera, yes--that ees heem. A splendid man. Poor Torellas. Ah-h, but

here ees Juan coming. He speaks the most beautee-full English.

Behold--Juan!'

"Ferrero was pointing out a square-shouldered, compactly built, bronzed

man of five feet seven or so, who was carving curved shapes out of the

air with his hands and pointing to one horse and then another in the

parade to illustrate his words. To further illustrate, he carved

beautiful figures with his cane and raised one knee after the other

violently to depict the animal's action. A man full of gimp, Juan seemed

to be. 'It is his new horse,' explained Ferrero. 'He will tell us of it,

too.' And he did--went over it all again after he had been introduced to

Cogan. 'Oh, a marvel of a horse,' he wound up, 'and I shall ride him in

the next fiesta.'

"Ferrero reintroduced Cogan to Juan as one who knew his brother Luis.

"'But I met him only once,' added Cogan.

"'Once? It is sufficient,' assured Juan. 'Fully sufficient. To meet

Luis once is to meet him forever. He is always the same. But some

others--not so. You have been shipwrecked, yes? You lost everything?

Ah-h, that is most hard luck, but do not despair. I, too, was a

sailor--one time. One time only, gracias a Dios! My ancestors, I think,

were of the land entirely. The sea-sickness--pir-r-h--no, no, not for

me. But do not mind. But pardon, señor'--he turned to Ferrero--'attend

to me, Ferrero. I am grieved to-day. It is the señora again. What

matters it whether a man is a muletero, gaucho, toreador, or what?

Torellas, now, has been all--so have I, her brother-in-law--or a seller

of hats or a member of the cabinet? What, I ask you'--he turned to

Cogan--'are we señor? We are men or we are not? So? Very well, let us

say no more, but find a café and have our coffee. It has been very dusty

to-day--very.'

"Two cups of coffee, and Juan was talking to Cogan like a brother. And

he could talk like a highspeed dynamo. 'A man--can he be no greater than

a man, I ask you, sir? Luis, he will be glad to see you, if you came in

rags--no matter--he is always the same, always. But the señora--pir-r-h.

That is it--you have it--Proud! A good woman, mind'--Juan leaned over

and tapped Cogan's arm to let him know there must be no mistake on that

point--'the best of women, but'--he sighed--'Luis, he is from home six

months in the year, and she it is who has the training of Valera. And

once she was as like her father as--oh, and such a heart! But she will

become--I fear it now--like her mother. And her mother does not want

Torellas.

"'And Torellas! A torero, yes. But whether a man is muletero, vaquero,

or torero, what matters it? Torellas has been all three, and I, too--I,

her brother-in-law, but what matters it? Luis, my brother, was, oh, so

poor when they married, but, my friend, I who say it--I, his brother--a

scamp possibly, yes, but we had family. A handsome boy was Luis, and

she--I admit it--very beautiful and good. But Luis--Luis becomes

wealthy. At once the señora must have a grand son-in-law. Torellas is a

toreador,--yes,--but also Torellas is something more than that. The

strong arm, the quick eye, the'--Juan slapped himself on the left

breast--'the brave heart, yes. But more than that. I know, señor, I who

have been'--he touched them off on succeeding finger-tips--'gaucho in

Argentina, cowboy in your country, a soldier in the Chilean war,

horse-breaker--but I have not fingers sufficient--I who have roamed far,

I know men. And Torellas--but you have seen him, señor? Ah-h--then you,

too, know. Is he not a man? Ah-h--and surely a man can be but a man. And

Torellas,'--Juan pounded the table,--'he is a man--Pir-r'--Juan whirled

in his chair--'_Pedro, café_--_al instante. Tres, si, si_--_tres_.'

"'But, Juan,' asks Ferrero when the coffee came, 'a few months ago we

thought--'

"'Exactly--we all thought. It is the señora. Listen, Mr. Cogan. You have

the warm heart, the friendly eye, you, too, shall know. Torellas and my

niece they have regard for each other, and she, the señora, sees no harm

until this Guavera, the politician, comes. Oh, a great man--he is to be

in the next cabinet--possibly. I repeat--possibly. The señora waits for

a chance to terminate with Torellas. Very well. Torellas receives many

letters from foolish girls. So do I, and Ferrero. Pir-r-h--what torero

of fame does not? And the señora, she points to me--as an example. It is

true that I am a weak man and I have no wife--no family--'

"Ferrero began to laugh. 'Mr. Cogan, there was a lady'--begins Ferrero.

"'T-t-t, Ferrero allow me. If we shall have old woman's gossip, allow it

also to be the truth. I was riding, señor, one fine, splendid Argentine

horse--such a horse!--when a carriage approached and a lady--such a

lady!--veiled, you understand, stands before me and a voice says--"Is

this not Señor Juan Roca?" It is true that I had received a note that

day--and why not, señor? What heart would not beat--but that is nothing.

I had no more than kissed the tips of her fingers this beautiful

evening, when a giant of a man leaps out. I did not even know that she

had a husband. I do not know yet that he is her husband. I did not even

know who she was, and he--he was as one sweeping down from a balloon, an

aeroplane; but, señor, I who can be gentle, as you can without doubt

understand, I can also be as the sea storm which wrecks great ships. I

beat this interloper--ah-h--beau-tifully--'

"'The whole city knew of it--such a scandal'--concluded Ferrero for him.

"'Ferrero, enough. I am no destroyer of homes. But the señora, Mr.

Cogan, takes occasion to point the finger at me. "There is your mounted

capeador, your brave toreador," she says to Luis, "and they are all

alike." But Torellas is not so. My heart withers for him. You must

understand, señor'--Juan turned anew to Cogan--'that Torellas is as my

own son. He tells me all. I have seen him burn in one day ten

letters--yes, his own heart burning for love, you understand. Such a

boy! He should be a Seminarian. But her mother, she says it is

scandalous! As if he could stop them from writing! He must give up

bull-fighting! Torellas give up bull-fighting! Our matador, the nation's

hero, give up--pir-r-h--if I were Torellas--No matter, I tell him to

come to the house as before. Luis favors him. I favor him. Old Tina

favors him, and, I think--I think--Valera herself--but she is too proud

to say. She, also, considers it--beseeched him to give up bull-fighting!

That was the señora's influence. If he were an ordinary matador--but the

great Torellas! Pir-r-h--but a moment.' Juan whirled to the waiter,

'_Pedro, mas cafe!_'

"Juan downed his coffee in a gulp. 'And you shall come with us to see

Luis,' he goes on. 'Come in your shipwreck clothes, it shall not matter

to Luis. I recollect now, sir, you are the American sailor he saw one

time in Colon. He has conversed many times of you. The señora will not

like it, you understand, you a sailor, but with the señorita, it is but

to charm the more. She loves me, her hard dog of an uncle, because I,

who have adventured, can tell her a thousand tales. You have adventured

also and she is yet her father's child. Do not mind that I speak

frankly, but come. If I speak thus to you, it is because I know that

you, señor, are one to understand and to trust. We shall be glad to see

you. You go with Ferrero now? Ver-ry good.' Juan stood up and with his

cane he saluted profoundly. 'Good-by, sir. Ferrero, a Dios.' He went as

he came, with a rush.

"Stirred up by Juan, Cogan thought of calling that very night on Luis

Roca and his family. But he did not go, nor next day, nor that week. He

saw Juan regularly in the bull-ring, and always Juan urged him afresh,

but Cogan did not go to see the Rocas. 'Later,' perhaps, he said to

Juan, who stared wonderingly at him but did not ask why.

"And so things went for several weeks, until that morning when the

American battle fleet came steaming into Callao harbor. Cogan was one of

twenty or thirty thousand who crowded to the stone pier that day, and

when the beautiful white ships came rounding in, he felt very proud. And

the yellow tongues of flame flashing and the white sides of the great

war-ships gleaming through the smoke--it made a tremendous impression on

everybody; but to Cogan's eyes the tears came. People near him said,

'Americano?' inquiringly, to which Cogan's bull-fighting friends

replied--'Si, si, Americano,' and added a 'Heep, heep, hoo-raw!' to make

Cogan feel more at home.

"That was the morning that Torellas told Cogan that if he wished he

could go into the ring on the occasion of the festival which Peru was to

hold in honor of the American fleet. And such an occasion it was to be!

A welcome from a younger to the older republic. There was to be a great

bull-fight, at which Torellas was to make his last appearance before

going to Spain.

"Spain! Madrid! The highest of honors! Cogan looked at Torellas, but the

matador didn't seem to be so very glad."

The pump-man seemed to be listening to something. "Hear 'em?" he asked.

The passenger cocked up his ears, and heard them--several voices from

the depths of one of the tanks.

"It's No. 11," explained the pump-man, and hurried away. The passenger

saw him disappear into a hatchway. Almost immediately the voices ceased

and shortly four deck-hands hurriedly emerged. Kieran followed. "Beat

it!" he ordered, and they somewhat sheepishly went forward.

Kieran came aft. "What was the trouble?" asked the passenger.

"That bunch of bone-heads,"--Kieran was talking. He was also pinching

the crust from the wick of a candle he held--"they sneaked down there to

have a little game. And brought this candle with them--for light. Three

weeks ago, up to the dock in Bayonne, a bunch lit a candle to look for

something in the corner of an oil ship's tank, and the coroner couldn't

tell the buttons of one from the other. Gas, yes. Another half minute

and these chaps would've got the surprise of their lives. But maybe I'd

better go for'ard and give 'em a few chemical explanations, or some

day, meaning no harm, they'll be blowing out the side of the ship. So

long."