administration wasn't so bad as is generally supposed, yet of course
there was too much rapacity and not enough industry. Central America,
broadly speaking, was known as the treasure-chest of the world, and
there were constant wars and disturbances. The colonies as a whole did
not progress like those in the North, and in course of time
deteriorated. The old cathedrals decayed and were not rebuilt. The old
Spanish stock died out and in its stead grew up a motley race given to
revolt, revolution, and corruption. Even when the provinces became
free, they weren't able to unite and form a strong nation. The Isthmus
of Panama became a pest-hole where the scum of the Four Seas settled.
The people became mean and unhealthy in mind and body and morals,
preserving nothing except the cruelty of their forefathers. Here and
there, to be sure, one comes across the old Castilian breed, like a
silver thread running through a rotting altar-cloth, but only here and
there, and most of those silver threads have become tarnished from
contact with the fabric."
"It must be a nice place," Kirk observed with gentle sarcasm.
"It affords one a great chance to moralize, at any rate. Take the
building of this canal, for instance. First, the French came, led by a
dreamer, and poured in the wealth of an empire in order that they might
exact toll from the world. You see, they were all lured by the love of
gain--the Spaniards, who pillaged the natives to begin with, and the
French, who set out to squeeze profit from all the other nations. But
it seems as if the spot were infected. The French lost an army in their
project; corruption gnawed through, and the thing ended in disgrace and
disaster. Spain and France have come and gone, and at last we Yankees
have arrived. It seems to be the will of God that the youngest,
lustiest people on the earth should finally be sent to clean this
Augean stable."
"By Jove! I never thought of it that way."
"It is a big task, Mr. Anthony, and the mere digging of the ditch is
the smallest part. There is a great deal more to be done. You see, as
men attain culture, they require more than mere food and drink and
bedding, and in the same way, as nations attain to greatness, they
require more than mere territory--they reach out and absorb power and
prestige. Our decision to build the Panama Canal is like the landing of
another Columbus; the conquest is to follow. After that will come--who
knows what? Perhaps more wars, more pillage, more injustice."
"You talk like a man," Anthony said, admiringly. "I had no idea you
looked at things in such a big way."
"You are laughing at me."
"No, indeed."
"You see, it is part of my husband's profession. As to the
romance--well, all women are romantic and imaginative, I suppose, and
you've been an inspiring listener."
"I don't know about that, but--you're a corking good talker. Excuse my
archaic English." Mrs. Cortlandt turned her eyes upon the speaker, and
he saw that they were very bright. "I've been thinking about what you
told me the other day," he ran on, "about myself. Remember?"
"I'm glad I have the knack of making something besides football signals
stick in your memory," said she. "Have you been thinking about that
girl I spoke of?"
"Yes," he replied, ingenuously. "I've been making up my mind to ask you
if you happen to have a sister--an unmarried sister, I mean."
Mrs. Cortlandt laughed appreciatively. "No, I have no sister, but I
thank you for the compliment. I suppose you meant it for one?"
"Yes. I hope you don't mind."
"Not at all. I'm quite sure now that my notion about you was right. It
will take a woman to make a man of you."
"It used to be my wind that troubled me," said the athlete, mournfully.
"Now it seems to be my heart."
"It doesn't seem to be seriously affected as yet, but it's remarkable
the number of ways in which the heart of man may be reached. I remember
once having breakfast in a queer little restaurant in the French
quarter of New Orleans, famous for its cooking and for the well-known
people who had eaten there. There was a sort of register which the
guests were asked to sign, and in looking it over I read the
inscription of one particularly enthusiastic diner. It ran, 'Oh, Madame
Begue, your liver has touched my heart,' and the story is that the
writer made desperate love to the proprietor's wife."
"Oh, come, that's rather hard on me. I have some emotions besides a
hearty appreciation of food."
"No doubt. I only mentioned that as one of the ways, and, seriously, I
am convinced that, however your awakening may come, you will be the
better for it."
"I do hope the cook will prove to be unmarried," he mused. "Imagine
having to do away with a husband who can handle a cleaver."
"Oh, I don't mean you should necessarily marry the woman. It would be
quite as good for you if she refused even to look at you. However, let
us hope that you meet some nice American girl--"
"Why not a senorita? You have inspired me with Spanish romance."
But Mrs. Cortlandt shook her head. "Wait until you have seen them."
"Already I imagine myself under some moonlit balcony teasing chords out
of a guitar. I have rather a good singing voice, you know."
"It is not done that way nowadays. Panama is Americanized. You will need
a pianola and an automobile."
"And all the romance is gone?"
"Oh, there is romance everywhere; there is quite as much in Pittsburg
as in Andalusia. But to speak of more practical things"--Mrs. Cortlandt
hesitated slightly--"I heard you tell the purser the other day about
your financial troubles, and it occurred to me that Mr. Cortlandt might
assist you."
"Thanks, awfully," Kirk hastened to say, feeling himself flush
uncomfortably. "But I sha'n't need anything. The old gentleman will
wire me whatever I ask for. Does Mr. Cortlandt know how I am fixed?"
"No."
"Please don't tell him. I--I'm a little bit ashamed of myself. You're
not going?"
"Yes. It is getting late, and my maid is looking for me."
"Oh, I'm sorry. It's lonesome around here without--somebody to talk
to." He took her hand and shook it as if she were a man. "You've been
mighty good to me and--I wish you had a sister. That's all."
She left him the memory of a very bright and very girlish smile, and he
found himself thinking that she could not be so much older than he,
after all.
Mr. Cortlandt was awaiting his wife and rose courteously as she entered
their suite.
"Did you send Annette for me?" she inquired.
"Yes. I thought you had forgotten the hour. We rise at six."
"My dear," she returned, coolly, "I was quite aware of the time. I was
talking to Mr. Anthony."
"Do you find him so amusing?"
"Very much so."
"He's such a boy. By-the-way, some of the passengers are remarking
about your friendship for him."
Mrs. Cortlandt shrugged. "I expected that. Does it interest you?"
The man favored her with his wintry smile. "Not at all."
"If he should need assistance while in Panama, I should be obliged if
you would accommodate him."
"Money?"
"Yes, or anything else. He left New York unexpectedly."
"Don't you think that is going a bit too far? You know I don't fancy
him."
Mrs. Cortlandt frowned slightly. "We won't discuss it," she said. "I
assured him he was at liberty to call on us for anything and--naturally
that ends the matter."
"Naturally!" he agreed, but his colorless cheeks flushed dully.
VI
IN WHICH KIRK ANTHONY IS GREATLY SURPRISED
When Kirk came on deck early the following morning, he found the Santa
Cruz nosing her way into Colony harbor. A land fog obscured his view
somewhat, but through it he beheld a low, irregular line of mountains
in the background, and close at hand a town. The ship came to anchor
abreast of a point upon which he descried a squat little spider-legged
lighthouse and long rows of frame dwellings half hidden behind slender
palm-trees. Beyond were warehouses and docks and the funnels of many
ships; on either side of the bay was a dense tropic wilderness. As the
sun dissipated the morning haze, he saw that the hills were matted with
a marvellous vivid green. There were no clearings on the slopes, no
open spaces dotted with farm-houses or herds, the jungle flowed down to
the water's edge in an unbroken sweep, and the town was cut out of it.
A launch came plunging through the swells, and the deck steward made
his rounds requesting the passengers to assemble for medical
examination.
Kirk found the Cortlandts ahead of him.
"What's coming off?" he inquired.
"Vaccination," Cortlandt explained, briefly. "They are very particular
about disease."
His wife added: "This used to be the worst fever-spot in the world, you
know. When we were here five years ago, we saw car-loads of dead people
nearly every day. A funeral train was a familiar sight."
"What a pleasant place to spend my vacation!" exclaimed Kirk. "Now if I
can rent a room over the morgue and board with the village undertaker,
I'll have a nice time."
"Oh, there's no more yellow fever--no sickness at all, in fact," said
Mr. Cortlandt. "Will you go over to Panama City, or will you stay in
Colon?"
"I think I'll remain on the ship; then she can't get away without me,"
Kirk answered. But when, after taking his turn before the doctors, he
explained his desire to the purser, that worthy replied:
"I'm sorry, but you'll have to arrange that with the agent. We make a
charge, you know, just like a hotel."
"I'm going to cable my old man for money."
The officer shook his head with finality. "Nothing doing, Mr. Locke."
"Anthony."
"I'll take no chances. If you don't pay, I'll have to. Look here! Do
you want to know what I think of you, Mr.--Anthony Locke?"
"I haven't any special yearnings in that direction, but--what do you
think about me?"
"Well, I don't think your name is either Locke or Anthony."
"Marvellous!"
"And I don't think you have any money coming to you, either."
"Mighty intellect!"
"I think you are no good."
"You're not alone in that belief. But what has all that to do with my
sleeping aboard the Santa Cruz?"
"If you want to stay aboard, you'll have to pay in advance. You're not
so foolish as you try to make out."
"Those are glorious words of praise," Kirk acknowledged, "but I'll make
a bet with you."
"What?"
"That you change your mind. I am just as foolish as I appear, and I'll
prove it. I'll bet my ring against your shirts that my name is Anthony,
and if I don't come through with the price of a ticket to New York you
can keep the ring."
"Very well, but meanwhile I don't intend to be stuck for your bill."
The purser was a man of admirable caution.
"All right, then, I shall throw myself upon the mercy of strangers and
take your belongings with me."
By this time the ship was being warped into her berth, and the dock was
crowded. There were little brown customs inspectors in khaki, little
brown policemen in blue, little brown merchants in white, and huge
black Jamaicans in all colors of rags. Here and there moved a bronzed,
businesslike American, and Anthony noticed that for the most part these
were clean-cut, aggressive-looking young fellows.
He was delayed but an instant by the customs officials, then made his
way out through a barnlike structure to the street, reflecting that,
after all, there are advantages in travelling light. He came into a
blazing-hot, glaring white street jammed with all sorts of vehicles,
the drivers of which seemed perpetually upon the point of riot. Before
him stretched a shadeless brick pavement, with a railroad track on one
side, and on the other a line of naked frame buildings hideous in their
sameness. The sun beat down fiercely. Kirk mopped his face with the
purser's handkerchief and wondered if this were really December.
Clumsy two-wheeled carts came bumping past, some with prehensile-footed
negroes perched upon them, others driven by turban-crowned Hindoos. A
fleet of dilapidated surreys and coaches, each equipped with a musical
chime and drawn by a flea-bitten, ratlike horse, thronged the square.
Kirk noticed with amusement that the steeds were of stronger mentality
than the drivers, judging from the way they dominated the place,
kicking, biting squealing, ramming one another, locking wheels and
blocking traffic, the while their futile owners merely jerked the reins
after the fashion of a street-car conductor ringing up fares, or swore
softly in Spanish. Silent-footed coolies drifted past, sullen-faced
negroes jostled him, stately Martinique women stalked through the
confusion with queenly dignity. These last were especially qualified to
take the stranger's eye, being tall and slender and wearing gaudy
head-dresses, the tips of which stood up like rabbits' ears. Unlike the
fat and noisy Jamaicans, they were neat and clean, their skirts
snow-white and stiffly starched, and they held themselves as proudly
erect as if pacing a stage.
The indescribable confusion of races reminded the young American of a
Red Sea port where the myriad peoples of the far East intermingle. He
heard a dozen different dialects; even the negroes used an accent that
was difficult to understand. One thing only struck a familiar note, and
that with peculiar force and sharpness. Down the railroad track toward
him came a locomotive with the letters "P. R. R." upon it, at which he
said aloud:
"Hurrah, I'm in Jersey City! I'll take the Twenty-third Street Ferry
and be at the Astor in no time."
He made his way slowly through the turmoil to the cable office, where
he wrote a message, only to have it refused.
"We don't send C. O. D.," the operator told him.
"Must have coin in advance, eh?"
"Yes, sir."
"I left my gold-purse on the dresser," Kirk said, cheerfully. "I'll be
back later." Then he wandered forth again, bearing his bundle of shirts
beneath his arm. He thought of appealing to the Cortlandts before they
left for Panama City, but could not bring himself to ask a favor from
that slim, agate-eyed man for whom he felt such an instinctive
distaste. Instead, he resolved to enlist the services of the American
consul.
He began to feel the heat now, and his borrowed collar drooped, but as
he neared the seaward side of town there was a remarkable
transformation. A delightful, cooling breeze swept in from the ocean,
and, when he finally came out upon a palm-guarded road along the
breakers, he paused in silent enjoyment. The trade-winds were drawing
inward as steadily as if forced by a great electric fan, piling the
green waters upon the rocks in a ceaseless, soothing murmur, making the
palm fronds overhead rustle like the silken skirts of an aerial ballet.
The effect was wonderful, for, while the air was balmy and soft, it was
also deliciously refreshing and seemed to have magic properties.
After some further wandering, he found the consul's house and knocked
at the door, whereupon a high-pitched, querulous voice from inside
cried:
"Come in. Dammit, don't stand there hammering!"
Kirk entered to find a huge, globular man clad in soiled linens
sprawled in a musty Morris chair and sipping a highball. The man's face
and neck were of a purplish, apoplectic hue; he seemed to radiate
heat-waves like a base-burner.
"Is this Mr. Weeks?" Kirk inquired.
"That's me."
"My name is Anthony."
"Glad to meet you," wheezed the fat man, extending a limp, moist hand
without rising. When Kirk had grasped it he felt like wiping his own
palm. "Have a seat." The speaker indicated a broken-backed rocker
encumbered with damp clothes, newspapers, and books. "Just dump that
rubbish on the floor; it don't matter where." Then he piped at the top
of his thin, little voice, "Zeelah! Hey, Zeelah! Bring some more ice."
One glance showed Anthony that the place was indescribably disordered;
a rickety desk was half concealed beneath a litter of papers, books,
breakfast dishes, and what not; a typewriter occupied a chair, and all
about the floor were scattered documents where the wind had blown them.
Shoes and articles of clothing were piled in the corners; there was not
a sound piece of furniture in the place, and through an open door
leading to another room at the rear could be seen a cheap iron bed,
sagging hammock-like, its head and foot posts slanting like tepee
poles, doubtless from the weight of its owner.
In answer to Mr. Weeks's shout a slatternly negress with dragging
skirts and overrun shoes entered, carrying a washbowl partly filled
with ice.
"Just get in, Mr. Anthony?"
"Yes, sir, on the Santa. Cruz."
"Fine ship." Mr. Weeks rose ponderously and wiped out a glass with a
bath towel, while Kirk noticed that two damp half-moons had come
through his stiffly starched linen trousers where his dripping knees
had pressed. He walked with a peculiar, springy roll, as if pads of fat
had grown between his joints, and, once an impulse had been given his
massive frame, it required time in which to become effective. The sound
of his breathing was plainly audible as he prepared his guest's
beverage.
"You'll like that," he predicted. "There's one good thing we get in
Colon, and that's whiskey." With a palsied hand he presented the glass.
His cuffs were limp and tight, his red wrists were ringed like those of
a baby. As he rolled back toward the Morris chair, his stomach surged
up and down as if about to break from its moorings.
"I came in to ask a favor," Anthony announced, "I suppose every tourist
does the same."
"That's part of a consul's duty," Mr. Weeks panted, while his soft
cheeks swelled with every exhalation. "That's what I'm here for."
"I want to cable home for money."
"A little poker game on the way down, eh?" He began to shake
ponderously.
"I'm broke, and they won't take a collect message at the cable office.
You see, I didn't know I was coming; some of my friends gave me a
knockout and shipped me off on the Santa Cruz. The wireless wasn't
working, we didn't stop at Jamaica, so this is my first chance to get
word home."
"What do you wish me to do?"
"Cable for me and see that I have a place to stop until I get an
answer."
A look of distrust crept slowly into the consul's little eyes.
"Are you absolutely broke?"
"I haven't got a jingle."
"How long will it take to hear from your people?"
"If my father is at home, I'll hear instantly."
"And if he isn't?"
"I'll have to wait."
"What makes you think he'll wire you money?"
"He's never failed yet. You see, I'm something like a comet; he knows
I'll be around every so often."
Mr. Weeks began to complain. "I don't know you, Mr.--what's the name
again? Anthony? I'm a poor man and I've been an easy mark for every
tropical tramp from Vera Cruz to Guayaquil. Your father may not be able
to help you, and then I'll be holding the bag."
"I think you don't understand who he is. Did you ever hear of Darwin K.
Anthony, of Albany, New York?"
Mr. Weeks's thick lids opened, this time to display a far different
emotion. "Certainly."
"Well, he's the goat."
Slowly, grandly, the American consul set his frame in motion, whereat
Kirk said, quickly, "Don't get up; I understand." But Mr. Weeks had
gone too far to check himself, so he lurched resiliently into an
upright position, then across the floor, and, reaching out past his
undulating front, as a man reaches forth from the midst of a crowd,
shook his guest heartily by the hand.
"Why didn't you say so?" he bubbled. "I'm here to accommodate folks
like you. Darwin K. Anthony! Well, RATHER."
"Thanks." The young man wiped his hand surreptitiously. "If you will
fix it so I can cable him and sleep aboard the ship, I'll be greatly
obliged."
"Nothing of the sort," Mr. Weeks blew through his wet lips. "I'll cable
him myself and you'll stay right here as my guest. Delighted to have
the privilege."
Kirk cast another glance over the place, and demurred hastily. "Really,
I couldn't think of putting you out. I can stay on the Santa Cruz as
well as not."
"I couldn't hear to such a thing. You're tired of ship life--everybody
is--and I have lots of room--too much room. It's a pleasure to meet
real people--this damn country is so full of crooks and dead-beats. No,
sir, you'll stay right here where it is cool and comfortable." With a
pudgy forefinger he stripped his purple brow of a row of glistening
sweat-drops. "I'll have Zeelah fix up a bed where this glorious breeze
will play on you. Mr. Anthony, that trade-wind blows just like that all
the time--never dies down--it's the only thing that makes life bearable
here--that and the whiskey. Have another highball?"
"No, I thank you."
"Darwin--Say, I'll send a cart for your baggage, right now."
"I have it with me--six shirts, all guilty."
"Then I'll send your father a message this minute. I'm delighted at the
privilege of being the first to advise him of your safety and to
relieve his mental anguish." Mr. Weeks rocked toward the desk, adjusted
a chair behind him, spread his legs apart, and sat down sidewise so
that he could reach the inkwell. He overhung his chair so generously
that from the front he appeared to be perched precariously upon its
edge or to be holding some one in his lap. "Where are those cable
blanks!" he cried, irritably, stirring up the confusion in front of him.
"Here they are." Anthony picked one up from the floor.
"It's that damn wind again. I can't keep anything in place unless I sit
on it. That's the trouble with this country--there's always a breeze
blowing. Thanks! I'm getting a trifle heavy to stoop--makes me dizzy."
In a moment he read what he had written:
DARWIN K. ANTHONY, Albany, New York.
Your son well and safe. Here as my guest. Asks you cable him money for
return. WEEKS, American Consul.
"That tells the story. It'll please him to know I'm looking after you,
my boy."
"You are very kind."
"Don't speak of it. I'm glad to get in touch with your father. We need
capital in this country."
"He's a hard man in money matters," said Darwin K. Anthony's son. "I
believe I enjoy the distinction of being the only person who ever made
him loosen."
"All successful men are cautious," Weeks declared. "But if he knew the
wonderful opportunities this country presents--" The speaker leaned
forward, while his chair creaked dangerously, and said, with
impressiveness, "My dear sir, do you realize that a cocoa palm after it
is seven years old drops a nut worth five cents every day in the year
and requires no care whatever except to gather the fruit?"
"No."
"Fact! And we grow the best ones in the world right here. But the
demand is increasing so rapidly that in ten years there will be a
famine. Think of it--a famine of cocoanuts!" Mr. Weeks paused to lend
dramatic effect.
"That's fierce," Kirk acknowledged. "What are they good for?"
"Eating! People make cakes out of them, and oil, and candy. Good
cocoanut land can be bought for fifty cents an acre, selected seeds for
five cents each, labor is sixty cents a day. No frosts, no worms, no
bugs. You sit still and they drop in your lap."
"The bugs?"
"No! No! The cocoanuts."
"Fine!"
"But that's nothing. Do you realize that this soil will raise
sugar-cane the size of your--of my--thigh, and once you plant it you
can't keep it cut out?"
"It's all news to me."
"You can buy sugar-cane land for a dollar an acre; it costs--"
"I'm no good at figures, Mr. Weeks."
"And rubber! THERE'S the chance for a man with capital. Rubber!"
"I will--I mean, is that so?"
"Ever see any rubber-trees?"
"Only in Brooklyn."
"I mean wild rubber. This country is full of it; the natives bring it
in. All you have to do is buy timber land--you can get it for a
song--plant your rubber-seed, and let 'er go, Gallagher! In ten years
you go back, cut off your timber, sell it for enough to make you rich,
and there is your rubber--velvet!" he concluded, triumphantly.
"Rubber velvet?"
"Yes. It's 'velvet'--all clear. You can't lose. My boy, there's a
thousand ways to get rich down here, and I know 'em all. What I need is
capital. If I had your father's backing--Say! It's a mighty good thing
you came to see me. I can do your old man a lot of good. I'm
conservative, I am, and what he needs is a good, conservative man to
manage his investments. Why, talk about quick money"--the speaker
thrust forth a finger that looked like a peeled banana--"I've got a
gold-mine--"
"Not a bit like it." Kirk shook his head. "They don't behave."
"This one will. It's an old Spanish mine and hasn't been worked for
three centuries. It's rich, RICH! I'll take you in as my partner, and
we'll get your father to open it up. What do you say? If he doesn't
like that, we'll get him a street-railway franchise; I'm close to the
government, and there isn't a steel rail in any city of the republic. I
know all the Spiggoty politicians."
"The what?"