through the wide double doors, and, being much above the average
height, he was able to get a good view of the proceedings. Upon a
platform a group of ceremonious officials were gathered about a
revolving wire cage, so arranged that it could be whirled rapidly upon
its axis. Into it were put ten ivory spheres, resembling billiard-balls
in size and appearance. When this had been done, the cage was closed,
and a very badly frightened twelve-year-old girl was selected at random
from the audience, then lifted to the stage, where it required the
commands and entreaties of her excited parents to prevent her from
dissolving in tears. At a word from the master of ceremonies the cage
was spun until the ivory balls inside leaped and capered like captive
squirrels. Then at another signal it was stopped. The door was opened
and the little girl reached in a trembling hand and selected a sphere.
It proved to be hollow, with two halves screwed together, and in full
sight of the assembly it was opened, displaying a bit of paper inside.
"Ocho!" cried the announcer, and a card bearing the numeral "8" was
raised. The paper was replaced inside the ivory ball, the ball itself
was dropped into the wire cage, the door was closed, and once more the
cage was spun.
Kirk was much interested in the scene, not from any faintest hope that
he would draw a prize, but purely from the novel atmosphere and color
of the thing. While his eyes were busiest, and just as the child
prepared to draw another ball, he felt a clutch upon his arm, and,
glancing down, beheld the glowing black eyes of Senor Ramon Alfarez
fixed upon him.
Alfarez was dressed immaculately, this time in civilian's white linen,
his ferocious little mustachios carefully pointed, his cheeks freshly
shaven and talcumed, his slender feet encased in white canvas shoes. A
wonderful Guayaquil hat, the creamy straws of which were no thicker
than silk threads, crowned his sleek, raven locks. It must have cost a
small fortune. He carried a dapper little cane, with which he tapped
his former prisoner to attract his attention.
At sight of him Kirk drew down his brows and said, gruffly:
"Don't poke me with that umbrella."
He turned away, but again Alfarez touched him with the rattan.
"I will spik' wit' you, hombre," he said.
"If you keep jabbing me with that crutch I'll break it, and then you
can't walk home."
Ramen jerked his head toward the square outside in an imperious
fashion, and Kirk, curious to learn the cause of this unusual
excitement, followed him without demur. When they had reached the
street the Spaniard turned with flashing eyes and a mirthless smile.
"Well!" he said, dramatically.
"Pretty well. How goes it with you?"
"So! You 'ave socceed in your cowardly attemp'."
"My what?"
"I am lose my poseetion as Commandante of Police."
"You don't say so!" Kirk's face broke into a smile of real pleasure.
"Ha! Makes it you to laugh, then?" exclaimed the Panamanian, excitedly.
"Per'aps you shall answer to those detestable actions, senor."
"Perhaps! I see you blame me for the loss of your job. Well, maybe you
won't beat up the next American you get your hands on."
"Bot--I 'ave another poseetion!" Ramen exulted.
"Indeed! Are you 'behind the ribbons' at the local Wanamaker's?"
"I 'ave been promote! I am appoint' yesterday by his Excellency the
Presidente to be his secretary. So! Those dastardly attack of yours is
transpire to my blessing. It will be always so."
"I suppose it's a good job, but you ought to be selling poison in a
drug-store. Did you call me out to hear this news?"
"Si!" Alfarez nodded his head vigorously. Then, narrowing his eyes, he
said, meaningly, in a voice that none might overhear, "Panama is
sometimes very on'ealthy city for fat Americans." He ran a hostile
glance up and down Anthony's burly frame. "It is the climate
per'aps--of too great 'eat."
"In other words, you intend to make it hot for me, eh?"
"I?" The ex-commandant shrugged his shoulders in eloquent denial. "I
shall do not'ing, bot--if you are wise man you will not display
yourself to the dangers of these climate; you will return 'ome."
"Say! I've a good notion to punch your head."
Alfarez paled slightly.
"Soch would be most dangerous, for in Chiriqui prison there is at the
present some fatal disease." He laughed sneeringly. "The senor is reech
man's son, eh? Those do not geeve the appearance."
With supreme insolence he touched one of the buttons upon Kirk's linen
uniform with his cane, whereat the American snatched the stick out of
his hand, broke it, and tossed it into the street. His blood was up,
and in another breath he would have struck the Spaniard, regardless of
consequences, but just at that moment Allan, dashed out of the crowd
crying, breathlessly:
"Oh, boss! Oh, BOSS! Glory to God, it is true! OH-H-H GLORY!" Seizing
Kirk's hands, he kissed them before the other could prevent, then ran
on frantically: "Come quick! Come! Come! Come!"
"Look out!" snapped Kirk, angrily. "What's happened?"
"The dream! The dream is come! Oh, God, sar! You--you have won the
capital prize, sar!"
Alfarez's exclamation, as much as the boy's wild hysteria, brought
Anthony to himself.
"NO! Honest, now! What's the number?" he exclaimed.
"H'eight, h'eight, three, h'eight," sobbed the Jamaican. Kirk made a
dive for his coat-pocket, while Allan continued in a rising voice:
"Glory to God, sar! Glory to God! It is fifteen thousand dollars
'silver.' I thought I should h'expire from fright. Oh, I--Quick! Praise
be--Do not say you have lost the ticket or I shall die and kill
myself--"
"Here it is!" In his hand Anthony waved a slip of paper, out of which
leaped four big, red numbers-"8838."
"Carraho!" came from behind him, and he turned to behold Alfarez, livid
of face and with shaking hand, fling a handful of similar coupons after
the broken cane. Without another word or a glance behind him, the
Panamanian made off across the Plaza, barely in time to, escape the
crowd that surged around the two he had quitted.
Bombarded by a fusillade of questions in a dozen tongues, jostled by a
clamoring, curious throng, the lucky owner of 8838 fought his way back
into the lottery building, and, as he went, the news spread like
flaming oil.
There it was, plainly displayed, "8838"! There could be no possible
mistake, and it meant fifteen thousand silver pesos, a princely fortune
indeed for the collector of No. 2.
Promptly at five minutes to one o'clock that afternoon, Allan Allan,
late of Jamaica, strode through the Panama railroad station and
flaunted a first-class, round-trip ticket to Colon before the eyes of
his enemy, the gateman. He was smoking a huge Jamaican cigar, and his
pockets bulged with others. When he came to board the train, he called
loudly for a porter to bring him the step and, once inside, selected a
shady seat with the languid air of a bored globe-trotter. He patronized
the "butcher" lavishly, crushing handful after handful of lemon-drops
noisily between his teeth and strewing orange peel and cigar ashes on
the floor with the careless unconcern that accords with firmly
established financial eminence. He spat out of the window, he waved a
dignified greeting to his countrymen gathered upon station platforms,
he halted hurrying brakemen to inquire times of arrival and departure,
and in general he had the time of his young life.
Only when Kirk appeared upon his rounds did he forego his haughty
complacency. Then his wide lips, which nature had shaped to a perpetual
grin, curled back as they were intended, his smile lit up the car, and
he burst into loud laughter.
"Enjoying yourself?" inquired his hero.
"Passably, sar, passably!" Then, with a painful assumption of
seriousness: "How is the train, sar, may I ahsk?"
"On time."
"Rarely it is so, as a general thing. It is fartunate h'indeed that you
consented to run her this time."
"In a hurry to get to Colon?"
"Quite so. It is h'impartant that I h'arrive promptly to-day. I have
business h'affairs." His countenance assumed tortured lines as he
endeavored to maintain his gravity, then failing in his attempt, he
burst suddenly into a gale of merriment that sent forth a shower of
peanuts and lemon candy. "Praise God, boss, we are 'appy gentlemen
to-day, are we not?"
Kirk found that the report of his good-fortune had spread far and wide;
he was halted a score of times for congratulations; operators at the
various stations yelled at him and waved their hands; Runnels wired
"Hurrah!" at Gatun. A certain respect was in these greetings, too, for
he had suddenly become a character.
As yet, however, he had not fully considered what this windfall meant
to him. His first thought had been that he could now discharge his
debts, go back to New York, and clear himself before the law. Yet the
more he thought of it the less eager he became to return. Seven
thousand five hundred dollars in gold to Kirk Anthony, of Panama,
Collector, was a substantial fortune. To Kirk Anthony, of Albany,
Distributor, it was nothing. Suppose he went home and squared his
account with the police, what would he do then? Nothing, as usual.
Here, he was proving that the Anthony breed was self-supporting, at
least. And there was another reason, the weightiest of all. Long before
he had reached the end of his run he realized that not one hundred
times the amount of this capital prize would tempt him to leave Panama
before he had seen Chiquita.
Chiquita was beginning to seem like a dream. At times during the past
week he had begun to wonder if she were not really a product of his own
imagination. His fancy had played upon her so extravagantly that he
feared he would not know her if ever they came face to face. His mental
picture of her had lost all distinctness; her face was no longer
clear-cut before his mind's eye, but so blurred and hazy that even to
himself he could not describe her with any accuracy.
This was most unsatisfactory, and he reproached himself bitterly for
the involuntary faithlessness that could allow her image to grow dim.
He was almost without hope of seeing her again. And then, with the
inconsequence of dreams and sprites, she appeared to him.
It was but a glimpse he had, and a tantalizing flash of recognition
from her eyes. It happened in the dusk during the confusion that
accompanied the arrival of No. 7 at Panama, and it came with a
suddenness that stunned him. The station was jammed with a roaring
flood of negroes, another crowd was forcing its way through the exits
in the high iron fence, the street was a crush of Spiggoty coaches.
Kirk had volunteered to assist an old lady, and his arms were full of
bundles as he guided her between the clicking teeth of a turnstile. He
was helping her into a carriage when he heard the sharp clatter of
hoofs upon the brick pavement, and looked up to see a fine Peruvian
mare hitched to a tan-colored surrey skirting the confusion. A black
coachman was driving, and there were several people in the carriage.
Kirk cast it a casual glance, and just as he looked it swept into the
glare of an electric light. Out from the back seat shone a perfect oval
face, with soft, luminous eyes. It was just as he had pictured it, only
more beautiful.
Kirk nearly upset his little old lady, who was struggling into her
equipage. He swept his armful of bundles into the coach, seized his
scandalized companion under the arms, and deposited her bodily upon a
seat. Without waiting to hear from her, he dashed away through the
bedlam. Under horses' heads he went, past flying hoofs and scraping
wheels, jostling pedestrians, and little, brown policemen, until he had
reached the outskirts of the crowd, where he vaulted into a vacant
vehicle and called upon the driver to whip up.
"Quick! Quick! Follow that tan-colored surrey! I'll give you a dollar
gold not to lose sight of it."
With the blandest of smiles the coachman started his horses, then,
turning, he inquired, politely:
"'Otel Tivoli?"
"No, NO! Follow that carriage!"
"No sabe Ingles!" said the coachman.
Before Kirk had succeeded in making him understand, the street had
become jammed with carriages and the Peruvian mare was lost to sight.
After a half-hour of futile clattering back and forth, Kirk dismissed
the driver.
But there was no doubt that she had recognized him, and nothing now
could prevent him from continuing his search. The trouble was that his
present occupation allowed him no opportunity. He was tied to the
railroad except at night.
It was perhaps two weeks later that a serious shake-up occurred in the
office force, of which no one seemed to know the cause. There was a mad
scramble for advancement all along the line, in which Kirk took no
part. But unexpectedly Runnels summoned him to his office.
"How would you like an inside position?" said the Master of
Transportation, eying him keenly.
"So soon?"
"I said I'd advance you if you made good." He paused an instant, then
said, deliberately, "When you get the hang of things here you'll have a
chance to be my assistant."
Kirk opened his eyes in amazement.
"Gee! That's great! But do you think I can get away with it?"
"Not at once. It will take time, of course, and you'll have to work
like the devil." Runnels regarded him curiously, recalling the letter
so carefully filed away. Then he yielded to his natural impulse.
"Look here, Anthony," he said, "I'm partly selfish in this, for I
believe you're the sort I'm going to want within the next year. The
superintendent has had an offer from a big system in the States, and
he's going to quit when his vacation comes. He likes me, and he says
I'll probably step into his shoes. Do you understand what that means?
I'll need fellows I can count on--fellows who won't double-cross me to
make a dollar for themselves, or knife me when my back is turned. I've
got to have an efficient, noiseless organization. Otherwise we'll all
go under, for we'll be into politics up to our necks. I think you're my
sort, so if you'll stick to me I'll help you, and for every step I take
I'll drag you up one."
"It's a go!" The two young men clasped hands heartily. Runnels had
struck the right note. Beside his former desire to prove himself a man,
Kirk now felt a strong sense of loyalty to the one who had recognized
his worth. This was no mere matter of promotion. He and Runnels would
work shoulder to shoulder. A sense of responsibility descended upon
him. For the first time he thoroughly understood the spirit of the
ardent toilers who were giving their best to the Big Job. He was really
one of them now, and the thought electrified him.
When he told his good news to Mrs. Cortlandt, her surprise was so
cleverly simulated that he never dreamed that she had been at great
pains to bring this thing about. Not that Runnels was indisposed to act
upon his own initiative, but the circumstances that had made his action
possible had been due to her. It was hard to help a man against his
will; but she profited by experience, and took the line of least
resistance.
The young man himself did not inquire too closely into the occasion of
his advancement, and Edith Cortlandt was but little in his mind. He was
consumed with the thought of Chiquita. He hoped that his new work would
allow him more control of his time, and perhaps put him in the way of
learning her name. He could move in better society now. Meanwhile he
laid other plans. He took Allan into his confidence, and told him
frankly that he was in love with a woman he did not know.
Of course his faithful follower was delighted, and made extravagant
promises of aid.
"Now that the dry season has come," said Kirk, "people must be living
at the Savannas, and I want you to haunt the region round that
swimming-pool until you discover who she is. You must be my detective."
"Oh, boss, I would--"
"Don't tell me you'd die and kill yourself for me. I want you to live
and find this girl for me. I'll take you out to-day, after office
hours, and show you the place; then you'll have to do the rest. You
talk Spanish, you know. But, above all, don't tip off."
"Tip h'off? What shall I be climbing, sar?"
"I mean you mustn't tell a soul."
"Never fear, boss. H'Allan will discover your female."
"And don't call her a 'female,' it sounds indecent. Remember, she has a
Bajan with her, six feet tall, named Stephanie. Who knows? Maybe you
can win Stephanie for yourself." Kirk chuckled at the thought.
"No, sar, if you please. Those Bajan 'oomen is all very disagreeable."
"You understand, I can't quit work to go looking for the girl, because
I've simply got to tend to business. But I'll spend Sunday out there if
you haven't already discovered her. Now, I'll chant this all over again
on the way out, so you won't forget anything."
XVII
GARAVEL THE BANKER
These were busy days for the Cortlandts. They entertained constantly,
and the occasions when they dined without from one to a dozen guests
became so exceptional as to elicit remark around the hotel. Most of
their efforts were devoted to certain Panamanians of the influential
class, and in company with one or more of these Cortlandt made frequent
trips to the various quarters of the Republic, sometimes absenting
himself for days at a time.
During these intervals his wife assumed the direction of affairs, and
continued to entertain or be entertained. Her energy and resource
seemed inexhaustible. The officials of both governments treated her
with punctilious respect, and the prestige gained in this way she used
to enhance her reputation as a hostess. Soon she became the social
dictator of the city, and the most exclusive circles, American and
Panamanian alike, allowed her to assume control.
The result was just what had been designed. Tourists and visiting
newspaper people spoke glowingly of the amity between the two nations,
and wondered at the absence of that Spanish prejudice of which they had
heard so much. Those who chanced to know the deeper significance of it
all, and were aware of the smouldering resentment that lay in the Latin
mind, commented admiringly upon her work, and wondered what effect it
would have upon the coming election. Already this event had cast its
shadow ahead, bringing memories of the last election with its
disturbances and ragged uncertainty. That had been a pregnant epoch.
Armed guards, hidden behind American walls, had listened to the growing
clamor and prepared to fire. American marines had been held in
readiness to take such action as might have convulsed the other
watchful World Powers.
Since then the fuse had burned steadily, if slowly. As the time drew
near, there were those who openly predicted trouble. Others scoffed at
the idea, although they claimed that this would be the last election
ever held in Panama. But all united in declaring that, whatever the
work to which the Cortlandts had been assigned, they were doing it well.
No one but the woman herself and her husband really understood the
tremendous difficulties of their task or the vital issues at stake.
Although they seemed to be making progress, they knew that they were
dealing with a people not only excitable and egotistic, but steeped in
guile, and distrustful by nature. The fire was close to the magazine.
But this was Edith Cortlandt's chosen field, and she brought to bear a
manlike power of cool calculation, together with a brilliant intuition
of her own. Never had her tact, her knowledge of human nature, her keen
realization of political values been called into such play as now. So
triumphantly did she exercise these qualities that all who came into
contact with her recognized the master mind directing the campaign,
and, consciously or unconsciously, relegated her husband to the
background.
To the Latin intellect this display of power, on the part of a woman,
was a revelation. She knew the effect she produced, and made the most
of it.
Old Anibal Alfarez was, perhaps, the last fully to appreciate her. He
did, however, learn in time that while he could successfully match his
craft against that of the husband, the wife read him unerringly. The
result was that he broke with them openly.
When news of this reached the members of the Canal Commission, they
were alarmed, and Colonel Jolson felt it necessary to make known their
views upon the situation. Accordingly, a few nights later, the
Cortlandts dined at his handsome residence on the heights above
Culebra. After their return to Panama, the Colonel, in whom was vested
the supreme authority over his nation's interests, acknowledged that
his acquaintance with diplomacy was as nothing compared with Edith
Cortlandt's.
It was to Colonel Bland, in charge of the Atlantic Division, that he
confessed:
"In all my life I never met a woman like her. Cortlandt, as you know,
is a clever fellow, and I flatter myself that I'm no mental invalid;
but we were like children in her hands. He sided with me at first, but
she talked us both around in spite of ourselves. I agree with her now,
perfectly, and I am content to let her have free rein."
"General Alfarez is the strongest man in the Republic," said Colonel
Bland. "As Governor of Panama Province, he's the logical next
President. Besides that, he has the machinery behind him. I don't see
who there is to defeat him."
"We argued the same thing. She thinks Garavel is the proper man."
"Garavel is a banker; he's not a politician."
The chief-engineer laughed.
"All Spanish-Americans are politicians, Colonel; they can't help it."
"Would he accept?"
"It is her business to find out. I had my doubts."
"But could he win? It would be a calamity if he had American backing
and failed; it would mean a disaster."
"Cortlandt has been working carefully, and he has been in all the seven
Provinces. He admits that it might be done; and she is certain. You
see, their part in the Colombian affair makes them strong with the
leaders, and they have already whipped the foreign influences into
line. Of course, it will mean a fight--Alfarez won't give up
easily--but, if Garavel should be the next President, it would be a
fine thing for both countries."
The other commissioner shook his white head doubtfully. "I supposed it
was all settled; Cortlandt himself told me Alfarez was a good man the
last time I talked with him. My God, it seems to me we've got enough on
our hands without being guardians for a two-by-four republic filled
with maniacs. We've got to finish this job on time. I can't understand
this change of sentiment."
"Oh, it isn't settled. There is ample time for anything to happen. When
the psychological moment comes, Cortlandt will be in position to swing
his influence whichever way he thinks best."
"Well, it's a puzzling situation," Colonel Bland admitted. "And I wish
it were over." Then he branched off on the subject of a cargo of cement
which had not been up to standard and might have to be rejected.
Over at Panama the Cortlandts were looking for a house to lease.
Affairs had reached a point where it seemed advisable to give up their
quarters at the Tivoli and enter into closer contact with the life of
the Spanish city. One reason for the move was the necessity for a
greater privacy than the hotel afforded, for the time was not far
distant when privacy might prove of paramount importance.
Meanwhile they gave a ceremonious little dinner, the one and only guest
being Andres Garavel, the banker.
Of all the charming peoples of Central America there are, perhaps, none
more polished and well-bred than the upper-class Panamanians. Of this
agreeable type, Senor Garavel was an admirable example, having sprung
from the finest Castilian stock, as a name running back through the
pages of history to the earliest conquests attested. Other Garavels had
played important parts in the troubled affairs of Guatemala, and it was
the banker's proud boast that one of his ancestors had assisted
Alvarado to christen the first capital of that country--the city of St.
James the Gentleman--in 1524. The name had later figured prominently in
Antigua, that Athens of the New World where the flower of Spanish
America gathered. A later forebear had fled southward at the time of
the disturbances incidental to the revolt of the colonies, but in his
departure there had been no disgrace, and since that time the Garavels
had worthily maintained the family traditions of dignity and honor.