swarthy of skin, his hair was snow-white, and he had stern, black eyes
of great intelligence. In size he was not above the medium, but his
manner fully made up for any deficiency of stature. He was courtly and
deliberate, evincing a pride that sprang not only from good blood but
from good deeds. His poise was that of a man with heavy
responsibilities, for Andres Garavel was a careful banker and a rich
one. He was widely travelled, well-informed, an agreeable talker, and
the conversation at Mrs. Cortlandt's table did not lag.
"I am so disappointed that your daughter could not come," Edith told
him for the second time. "I'm afraid she objects to our American
informality."
"No, no, my dear lady," said their guest. "She admires American
customs, as I do. We are progressive--we have travelled. In my home, in
my private life, perhaps, I am Panamanian, but in my business and in my
contact with other peoples I am as they are. It is the same with my
daughter."
"When you Latins really become cosmopolitan you are more so than we
Americans," Cortlandt acknowledged. "We assume foreign airs and customs
that please us and forget to retain our own, while you--well, with
Germans you are German, with Englishmen you are English, and yet you
never forget to be Spaniards."
The banker smiled. "My daughter has had a wide education for a child.
She has travelled, she speaks five languages--and yet, underneath it
all she is a Garavel and hence a Panamanian. She is all I have, and my
life is hers."
"When we are settled in our new house we hope to see something of you
both."
"You have effected a lease of the Martinez home, I believe?"
"Yes. Do you know it?"
"As my own. You are indeed fortunate to secure so fine a place. I wish
that in some way I might be of service to you."
"The wish is mutual," Cortlandt answered, meaningly, but Senor Garavel
concealed any recognition of the tone by a formal bow, and the meal
progressed with only the customary small talk to enliven it.
As soon as the three had adjourned to the Cortlandt's suite the host of
the evening proceeded to approach the subject in his mind as directly
as the circumstances permitted. Through a series of natural transitions
the conversation was brought around to politics, and Garavel was
adroitly sounded. But he displayed little interest, maintaining a
reserve that baffled them. It was impossible to betray him into an
expression of feeling favorable to their views. When at last he
consented to show his awareness of the suggestion so constantly held
out, he spoke with deliberate intention.
"General Alfarez is my respected friend," he said, with a quietness
that intensified his meaning, "and I rejoice that he will be the next
President of Panama."
"You, of course, know that there is opposition to him?"
"All Panama knows that."
"General Alfarez does not seem to be a friend of the United States."
"There are few who hold the views I do. He is a man of strong
character, he has no commercial interests to influence him as I have,
and so we differ. Yet I respect him--"
"It is precisely because of those views of yours that I wish to consult
you," said Cortlandt, slowly. "In all the Republic there is no one so
progressive as you. May I speak frankly?"
Garavel inclined his white head without removing his intense, dark eyes
from the speaker.
"Don Anibal Alfarez can never be President of Panama!"
The banker made no visible movement, yet the effect of this positive
declaration was almost like that of a blow. After a pause he said:
"May I tell him you said so?"
"If you wish, but I do not think you will."
The hearer let his eyes flit questioningly to Mrs. Cortlandt's face to
find her smiling at him.
"Believe me, dear lady," he said, "I suspected that there were grave
reasons for this interview, but as yet I am at sea. I am not a
politician, you know. I shall have no voice in our political affairs."
"Of course we know that, Senor Garavel, and of course there are grave
reasons why we wished to talk with you. As Stephen has said, General
Alfarez cannot be President--"
"Madame," he said, coldly, "Panama is a republic. The voice of the
people is supreme."
"Down in your heart do you really think so?" She was still smiling at
him. "No! The United States is supreme."
"Ah! That day will come, perhaps--I have said so; I look forward to it
as the best solution, but--"
"The day has come."
"Even so, Alfarez is an honorable man, a strong man, and the wealthiest
man in our country. He is a politician--"
"But he is not a friend of our country."
"I am not so sure." Garavel frowned at his cigar for a moment, while
the room became silent. "What has this to do with me, madame?" he
asked, at last.
"Can't you guess?" The intensity of her look caused him to rise
hurriedly and cast a quick glance from one to the other.
"You are also a rich man, a man of ability," said Cortlandt, quick to
seize the momentary advantage. "Your name is second to none in all
Central America. The next President must possess intelligence, honor,
ability; he must be a friend of our people. There is no one better--"
"Impossible!" exclaimed the banker, in a strange voice. "_I_? No, no!"
"And why not? Have you never had political aspirations?"
"Of course. All men have dreams. I was Secretary of Finance under
Amador, but the Garavels have never really been public men. Politics
have been a curse to our house. My grandfather--"
"I know," broke in Mrs. Cortlandt. "But times have changed. Panama has
seen her last revolution, and she needs a business man at her head.
Presidents are not made now by rifle and sword, and the man with the
machete must give way to the man with a capacity for handling big
affairs. There will be no more swineherd Presidents like your
Guatemalan countryman Corera, nor tyrants like Zelaya. Panama is a
healthy country, with no national debt; she is growing, developing. She
holds the gateway to the Western World, and her finances must be
administered wisely. You, Mr. Garavel, are one of the few who are
clear-headed enough to see that her destiny is linked with ours, and
there is no one who can direct her so well as you."
"It is impossible!" repeated Garavel, his agitation growing more
pronounced. "General Alfarez is my friend. His son will be my son."
"Ramon! Is Ramon engaged to your daughter?"
"Yes," exclaimed the banker, shortly. He began to pace the room.
"What difference would that make, if the young people love each other?"
"Certainly," Cortlandt agreed. "They are not children."
"As for love, Ramon loves, and--my daughter will love also, once she is
married, for she is a Garavel."
"If Ramon isn't satisfactory to her, ought you to force her
inclination?" Mrs. Cortlandt offered, eagerly. But the banker flung his
arms aloft in a gesture of half-humorous despair.
"Oh-h! These young ladies!" he cried. "They do not know what they want.
What pleases to-day, displeases to-morrow. It is 'Yes' and 'No,' 'Yes'
and 'No,' until one must decide for them. That, after all, is best." He
paused abruptly. "This comes upon me like a flood, my friends. I am
swept away, and yet I--I will need to think seriously."
"Certainly."
"To an honorable man the salary will mean nothing. I have many affairs;
I fear I cannot afford this sacrifice."
"Would you retire in favor of some one who could afford it?"
"Alfarez is honest."
"Alfarez cannot be President."
"It would require a great deal of money. I am considered a rich man,
but I have discounted the future, and my enterprises--" He flung out
his arms. "I have spread out. I must be careful. It is not alone MY
money that I have invested."
"It will require very little money," said Cortlandt. "I have been from
David to Darien, from Bocas to Colon and I know the public sentiment."
"Speaking of David," his wife added; "it was you who first projected
the railroad to that point, Senor Garavel."
"Yes, I saw that it was needed. It would make Panama," he said, simply.
"Under your administration it can be built. Mr. Cortlandt can assure
you of our government's earnest co-operation. That would not be the
case if General Alfarez were elected. Perhaps the Colombian boundary
can be settled. There also our influence might avail. Those two steps
forward would make the name of Garavel as famous in Panama as it is in
Guatemala."
"Those are important issues for any loyal Panamanian," he admitted.
"And you love your daughter--you say your life is, hers. Your honor
would be hers also. Senorita Garavel would have no cause to regret her
father's presidency."
"Oh, it is useless to argue," smiled the Spaniard. "I am weak. I am
human. I am also patriotic, and I realize that our little country must
look to your great one for its stimulus. Our life must be moulded after
yours. For years I have dreamed of a railroad to David, which would
some day form a link in the great system that will join the three
Americas. I have pictured our inland jungles replaced with homes; a
great traffic flowing from end to end of the Republic. But I have also
seen that our people would not profit by it. The languor of the tropics
is in their blood, and you Yankees would be needed to inspire them."
His voice shook with emotion as he went on: "They are good, simple
people, no more than children, and I love them. A gracious Providence
gave us the key to the world's commerce, but we could not use it. It
needs all our wisdom now to adapt ourselves to the conditions that have
arisen. 'Andres Garavel, President of the Republic of Panama!' It has a
sweet sound, my friends, and yet--I have fears."
"Let's take them one by one," laughed his host, "and prove them
imaginary. I see a great good-fortune in store for you."
It was midnight before Senor Andres Garavel, the banker, bade his
friends good-bye. When he descended the hotel steps to his carriage, he
held his white head proudly erect, and there was new dignity in his
bearing. As he was whirled homeward behind his spirited Peruvian mare,
a wonderful song was singing in his heart.
XVIII
THE SIEGE OF MARIA TORRES
The faithful Allan was not long in fulfilling his mission. Such
devotion as his, it seemed, could hardly fail, and, if there had been a
hundred Chiquitas, doubtless he would have corralled them all. He
conveyed the impression that, if it had been necessary to journey
beyond the grave and bring back the ghost of some dead-and-gone
Chiquita, he would have gloriously succeeded. One morning, a few days
later, he appeared to Kirk, bursting with importance and news.
"Well, sar! I have discovered your female," he announced, pompously.
"No? What's her name? Who is she?"
"Her is named Maria Torres, sar, and resides in the small 'ouse you
h'observed upon the 'ill."
"Did you SEE her?" Anthony could hardly believe his ears.
"Oh yes, very h'extensively."
"What does she look like? Is she dark?"
"Very dark, sar."
"And small?"
"Not too small," opined Allan.
"Of course, just right. And her eyes, like--like--"
"H'ink! Spots of h'ink. Oh, it is she, Master h'Auntony."
"Jove! I believe it is! You're an ace, Allan. You're my ace of spades."
Out of pure joy he began to pummel him playfully. "Why don't you
rejoice? Lift up your voice and sing. Maria Torres! It's a heavenly
name--Why don't you make a joyful noise?"
Allan voiced a feeble hurrah.
"It was only by chawnce that I h'encountered her, boss, for she is
residing in the city. I h'ascertained all those facts--"
"Good! Find the street and number, quick! I'm going a-wooing! Say! When
these Spaniards court a girl they hang around her window and roll their
eyes, don't they? Me for that! I'll haunt the Torres neighborhood until
she shows herself, or die in the attempt. I'll play their game. I'll
get a guitar, I'll--Oh, from this moment I'm a Spaniard of the
Spaniards. I'm the incarnation of ten thousand fiery cavaliers. I'll
stand in front of her house until she sends me a chair. Maria Tor--What
the deuce are you loafing for? Get a move on; hustle those kidney feet
of yours. Don't come back until you have located her; for to-night--ah,
blessed night! My life's romance begins in earnest. GET OUT!"
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?"