radiate a gentle effulgence which was most disquieting. "It is indeed
pleasing to encounter a gentleman so truly modest, so possessed of
delicacy; but I may say that Senor Torres is look with favor upon your
suit. Of course"--he checked Kirk's hasty words--"it is not completely
settle, by no means; the young lady is but partly won. However"--he
winked one black eye reassuringly--"as friend of the family I bid you
not to permit discouragement and despair."
Anthony broke out in desperation: "Hold on! Let me explain! There's
been an awful mistake."
"Mistake?" The tone was blandly incredulous.
"Yes. I'm not in love with Miss Torres."
Professor Jesus Herara stared at the speaker as if his mastery of the
English language was, after all, incomplete. Torres, seeing that he was
missing something, interpolated a smiling inquiry; then, as his
interpreter made the situation clear, his honeyed smile froze, his
sparkling eyes opened in bewilderment. He stared about the room again,
as if doubting that he had come to the right place.
"There's really a mistake," Kirk persisted. "I don't even know Miss
Torres."
"Ah! Now I understand." The Professor was intensely relieved. "It is
precisely for that purpose we arrived. Bueno! You admire from a
distance, is it not so? You are struck with the lady's beauty; your
heart is awakened. You are miserable. You pine away. You cannot find
courage to speak. It is admirable, senor. We understand fully, and I,
who know, assure you of her many virtues."
"No, it's nothing like that, either. I have no doubt Miss Torres is
altogether charming, but--I--there's just a mistake, that's all. I'm
not the least bit in love with her."
"But, senor! Is it not you who have stood beneath her window nightly?
Is it not you who have laid siege to her these many days?" The
speaker's eyes were glowing with anger as he turned to make his inquiry
clear to the young lady's father.
Mr. Torres began to swell ominously.
"If you'll just let me explain. I'm in love with a young woman, true
enough, but it doesn't happen to be Miss Torres. I thought it was, but
it isn't."
There was another vibrant exchange of words between the Spaniards.
"You were making sport, then, of my friend--"
"No, no! It's another person altogether."
"Who?"
"I don't know her name."
"WHAT?" Herara was about to burst forth when his friend nudged him and
he was obliged to put this amazing declaration into Spanish. Senor
Torres breathed heavily and exploded an oath.
"I met her in the country and made a mistake in the town houses," Kirk
floundered on. "I never knew till this morning that I was on the wrong
trail. It is all my fault. I thought the lady's name was Torres."
"Eh? So you love one whom you do not know? Incredible!"
"It does sound a little fishy."
"And it is a grave affront to my friend. How will the senorita
understand?--she in whose breast is awakened already an answering
thrills?"
"I'm mighty sorry. If you wish, I'll apologize in person to Miss
Torres."
At this Herara cried out in horror; then, after a brief colloquy with
the father, he rose stiffly, saying: "I offer no words from my friend.
For the present he does not believe, nor do I. Inquiries will be
institute, of that be assured. If you have deceived--if your intentions
were not of the most honorable"--the head of the Herara Business
College glared in a horrible manner--"you will have occasion to regret
those foolish jokes."
Kirk tried to explain that his present regrets were ample for all time,
but, bowing formally, the visitors withdrew, leaving him to revile anew
the name of Allan Allan.
When the black boy returned, foot-sore but cheerful, his appearance was
the signal for an outburst that left him disconsolate and bewildered.
He apologized over and over for his little error, and tried to
reinstate himself by announcing, with a confidence he was far from
feeling, that this time he had identified the elusive Chiquita beyond
the peradventure of a doubt. This welcome intelligence did much to make
Kirk forget his wrath.
"What's her name?" he inquired, eagerly.
"Fermina, sar."
"Are you sure?"
"H'entirely. But it will not h'avail to be courting of those ladies,
Master h'Auntony."
"Is there more than one?"
"Two of they--sisters--very rich. They h'occupy the 'ouse h'adjoining
Senor Torres."
Allan spoke in a hushed voice, and shook his head as if to show the
hopelessness of aspiring to such aristocracy. Surely Kirk knew of the
Ferminas? Arcadio Fermina was the owner of the pearl-fishery concession
and a person of the highest social distinction. He was white, all
white, there was no doubt on that score. Undoubtedly Chiquita would
prove to be his daughter and a joint heiress to his fabulous fortune.
But she was not the sort to be courted from the street, even Allan knew
that much; for, after all, such a procedure was followed only by the
middle classes, and in this instance would result in nothing less than
disaster.
It sounded reasonable, and Kirk allowed himself to be half convinced.
It was no later than the following day, however, that Runnels pointed
out two young ladies who were driving past and informed him that they
were the Misses Fermina.
"Their old man has made a fortune out of the Pearl Islands," he
remarked. "They say those girls have the finest collection of pearls in
Central America."
Kirk gazed after them eagerly, but it took no more than a glance to
show him that they were not even distantly related to the object of his
search. Once more he set Allan upon the trail with instructions to find
out who lived in the large house upon the hill--the one with the
driveway of royal palms--and not to return without the information. But
by now the Jamaican was beginning to weary of this running back and
forth and to consider the quest a vain imagining. So, being wishful to
dream another lottery number, he brought back with him a fanciful tale
designed to quiet his employer and to assure himself ample leisure in
the future.
"Master h'Auntony, your female is gone," he informed him, sadly.
"Gone! Where?"
"Somewhere--on a ship."
"Are you sure?"
"There is no doubt, sar. Her name is Garavel, and she h'occupies the
big 'ouse on the 'ill. I discovered those h'impartant facts from the
Bajan 'ooman."
"Stephanie! You saw her? By Jove! Then you are right this time. Quick!
tell me all you learned."
Allan lied fluently, elaborately, and, finding his hero plunged into
despair, resigned himself gratefully to another period of blissful
idleness. This was much the simplest way, he decided; for even should
Kirk meet a Garavel or a Fermina, there was no chance of his winning
her, and love, after all, is but a passing impulse which may be
summoned or banished at will by such simple mediums as charms. The boy
did go out of his way to ease his benefactor's malady by taking a lock
of his own fuzzy wool and placing it beneath Kirk's mattress, after
certain exorcisms.
There followed a period of blank dejection. Kirk's first
disappointment, when the girl had failed to keep her tryst, was as
nothing compared to this, for now he felt that she was unattainable. He
did not quite give up hope; so many strange experiences had befallen
him since his involuntary departure from New York that it all seemed
like a dream in which anything is possible. But he was deep in the
doldrums when, with magic suddenness, the scene changed, and his long
discouragement came to an end.
XIX
"LA TOSCA"
The winter season was at its height now. For weeks there had been no
rain, and the Pacific side of the Isthmus was growing sere and yellow
beneath the ceaseless glare of the sun. The musty dampness of the rainy
season had disappeared, the steady trade-winds breathed a dreamy
languor, and the days fled past in one long, unending procession of
brilliant sameness. Every ship from the North came laden with tourists,
and the social life of the city grew brilliant and gay. There were
receptions, dinners, dances; the plazas echoed to the strains of music
almost nightly. Now that Nature smiled, the work upon the Canal went
forward with ever-growing eagerness. Records were broken in every
department, the railroad groaned beneath its burden, the giant human
machine was strained to its fullest efficiency.
Young Anthony mastered the details of his work very rapidly, for
railroading had been bred into him. He needed little help from Runnels,
and soon began to feel a conscious grasp of affairs as surprising to
himself as to his chief. Being intensely interested in his work, he
avoided all social entanglements, despite repeated invitations from
Mrs. Cortlandt. But, when the grand-opera season began, he made an
exception, and joined her box-party on the opening night.
It seemed quite like old times to don an evening suit; the stiff, white
linen awakened a pang of regret. The time was not far distant when he
had felt never so much at home as in these togs; but now they were hot
and uncomfortable--and how they accentuated his coat of tan!
There was a somewhat formal dinner in the Cortlandts' new home, at
which there were a dozen guests; so Kirk had no opportunity of speaking
with his hostess until they had reached the theatre, where he found
himself seated immediately behind her.
"I've scarcely seen you lately," she said, at the first opportunity.
"You're a very neglectful young man."
"I knew you were getting settled in your house, and we've been
tremendously busy at the office."
"I began to think you were avoiding us."
"You must know better than that."
She regarded him shrewdly over her shoulder. "You're not still thinking
of--that night at Taboga? You haven't seemed the same since."
He blushed, and nodded frankly. "I can't help thinking about it. You
were mighty nice to overlook a break like that, but--" Unconsciously
his eyes shifted to Cortlandt, who was conversing politely with a
giggly old lady from Gatun.
She tapped his cheek lightly with her fan. "Just to show you how
forgiving I am, I am going to ask you to go riding with me. The late
afternoons are lovely now, and I've found a good horse for you. I
suppose you ride?"
"I love it."
"Wednesday, at five, then." She turned to another guest, and Kirk
leaned back to take in the scene about him.
Like most Latin-American cities, Panama prides herself upon her
government theatre, which is in truth very beautiful. Although it
remains dark most of the year, its brief period of opera is celebrated
by a notable outpouring. To-night the magnificent white-and-gold
auditorium was filled to the topmost gallery, and the two circles of
boxes were crowded with the flower of Panamanian society, tourists from
the North, and Americans from the whole length of the Canal Zone. Kirk
himself had seen to running a theatre special from Colon, and
recognized all six of the Commissioners, with their families. It was an
exceedingly well-dressed audience, and although the pit was plentifully
sprinkled with men in white, the two lower galleries were in solid
full-dress. Bejewelled women in elaborate gowns lent the affair almost
the elegance of a night at the Metropolitan, while the flash of many
uniforms made the scene colorful.
Suddenly the orchestra broke into the national air, and with a great
rustling and turning of heads the audience rose to its feet. In the
centre box of the first tier, ornately hung with flags and a coat of
arms, Anthony beheld a giant black man of majestic appearance, drawn to
his full height and flanked by a half-dozen aides in uniform, all at a
stiff military salute.
"That is President Galleo," Edith told him.
"Jove! He's a regal-looking chap," Kirk exclaimed.
"He's very much of a man, too, yet even here there is a color line.
Nobody acknowledges it, but the old Castilian families are keenly aware
of it just the same."
As the last measured strain died out the audience reseated itself, the
introduction to "La Tosca" sounded, and the curtain rose. Although the
names of the performers were unknown to Kirk, their voices were
remarkably good, and he soon became absorbed in the drama. A sudden
lonesomeness surged over him as he recalled another night when he and
Darwin K. Anthony had heard these same notes sung. But then they had
sat enthralled by the art of Caruso, Scotti, and the ravishing
Cavalieri. It had been one of the rare hours when he and his father had
felt themselves really in sympathy. The Governor had come down for some
fabulous directors' meeting, he remembered, and had wired his son to
run in from New Haven for the evening. They had been real chums that
night, and even at their modest little supper afterward, when the old
gentleman had rowed with the waiter and cursed his dyspepsia, they had
laughed and chatted like cronies. Yet a week later they had quarrelled.
With an unexpected access of tenderness, Anthony Jr. longed to see once
more that tumbled shock of white hair, that strong-lined face; to hear
again the gruff tones of that voice he loved so well. After all, there
were only two Anthonys left in the world, and he had been to blame. He
acknowledged that he had been a ne'er-do-well. No wonder his father had
been harsh, but still--old Darwin K. should not have been so
domineering, so ready to credit all he heard. Kirk pressed his lips
together and swore to make good, if for no other reason than to show
his dad.
As the curtain fell on the first act, he rose with the others and,
accompanied by Mrs. Cortlandt, made his way down the long passageway
and out into a brightly lighted, highly decorated foyer filling now
with voluble people. It was a splendid room; but he had no eyes for it.
His gaze was fixed upon the welcome open-air promenade outside, and his
fingers fumbled with his cigarette-case.
"Oh, wait, please," he heard Edith say, "I want you to meet some one."
He had done little except respond to meaningless introductions all the
evening, and nothing could have pleased him less at the moment. But,
somewhat awkwardly, he began to edge his way through the press in the
wake of his hostess. The next moment he halted and stood stock-still in
helpless surprise.
There, not a yard away, was the girl of his dreams demurely bowing to
Edith Cortlandt, her hand upon the arm of a swarthy man whom Kirk knew
at once as her father. He felt the blood rush blindingly to his head,
felt it drumming at his ears, knew that he must be staring like a man
bereft. Mrs. Cortlandt was speaking, and he caught the name "Garavel"
like a bugle-call. They turned upon him, the Spanish gentleman bowed,
and he saw that Chiquita's little white-gloved hand was extended toward
him.
She was the same dainty, desirous maid he had met in the forest, but
now splendidly radiant and perfect beyond his imagining. She was no
longer the simple wood-sprite, but a tiny princess in filmy white,
moulded by some master craftsman. As on that earlier meeting, she was
thrilling with some subtle mirth which flickered on her lips or danced
in the depths of her great, dark eyes.
How he ever got through that wild introductory moment without making a
show of himself, Anthony never knew, for his first overwhelming impulse
was to seize the girl and never let her escape. It was the same feeling
he had had at Las Savannas, only ten times harder to resist. The
general confusion, perhaps, helped to hide his emotion, for around them
eddied a constant human tide, through which at last came Mr. Cortlandt
and the other members of his party. There were more introductions, more
bows and polite exchanges of words which had the maddening effect of
distracting Miss Garavel's attention. Then, by some glorious miracle,
Kirk found himself moving toward the open air at her side, with Mrs.
Cortlandt and the banker in advance of them.
"Oh, Chiquita," he said, softly, "I thought I'd NEVER find you. I've
hunted everywhere."
At the tremulous intensity of his tone, she gave an uncertain laugh and
flashed him a startled glance.
"Chiquita is not my name," she said, reprovingly.
"Yes, it is; it must be. I can't think of you by any other. Hasn't it
been whispering at my ears ever since you said it? It has nearly driven
me mad."
"Senor Antonio! I have seen you but once."
"I have seen you every day, every hour-"
"Indeed?"
"I can't see anything else. Don't you understand?"
"You forget that we have but just been introduced."
"Don't be offended; you see, I can't realize that I have found you at
last. When I learned you had gone away, I thought I would surely-"
"I have been nowhere."
"Didn't you go away on a ship?"
"That is absurd! I have remained always in my father's house."
"Then wait until I catch that boy of mine! Didn't you know I was
looking for you? Couldn't you FEEL it?"
"Indeed, why should I imagine such things?"
"Why, if you couldn't feel a thing like that, you can't love me."
"Of a certainly not," she gasped. "You should not joke about such
things."
"I'm not joking; I never was so serious in my life. I-I'm afraid I
can't tell you everything-it all wants to come out at once. Why didn't
you come back as you promised?"
"It was Stephanie-she is such a ferocious person! I was brought to the
city that day-but no, senor. I did not promise. I said only 'perhaps.'"
"Have you done your penance?"
"It was finished yesterday. This is the first time I have been out. Oh,
it is delightful. The music-the people!"
"And I can come to see you now?"
"Very well do you know that you cannot. Have you not learned our
customs?" Then, with an abrupt and icy change of tone: "I forget. Of
course you are familiar with those customs, since you have become the
wooer of Miss Torres."
"Oh, Lord! Where did you hear about that?"
"So! It is true. You are fickle, senor-or is it that you prefer dark
people?"
"I was looking for you. I thought it was you behind those curtains all
the time." He began a flurried defence of his recent outrageous
behavior, to which Miss Garavel endeavored to listen with distant
composure. But he was so desperately in earnest, so anxious to make
light of the matter, so eager to expose all his folly and have done
with it, that he must have been funnier than he knew. In the midst of
his narrative the girl's eyes showed an encouraging gleam, and when he
described his interview with Torres and Heran their surprise and
dramatic indignation, she laughed merrily.
"Oh, it wasn't funny at the time," he hastened to add. "I felt as
though I had actually proposed, and might have to pay alimony."
"Poor Maria! It is no light thing to be cast aside by one's lover. She
is broken-hearted, and for six months she will do penance."
"This penance thing is a habit with you girls. But I wasn't her lover;
I'm yours."
"Do not be foolish," she exclaimed, sharply, "or I shall be forced to
walk with my father."
"Don't do that. Can't you see we must make haste while the curtain is
down?"
"I do not see. I am strolling in search of the cool air." She bowed and
smiled at some passing friends. She seemed very careless, very
flippant. She was not at all the impetuous, mischievous Chiquita he had
met in the woods.
"See here!" he said, soberly. "We can't go on this way. Now that I've
met your father, I'm going to explain my intentions to him, and ask his
permission to call on you."
"We have a--proverb, senor, 'Ir por lana, y volver trasquilado,' which
means, 'Take heed lest you find what you do not seek.' Do not be
impetuous."
"There's only one thing I'm seeking."
"My father is a stern man. In his home he is entirely a Spaniard, and
if he learned how we met, for instance"-even under the electric light
he saw her flush-"he would create a terrible scene." She paused in her
walk and leaned over the stone balustrade, staring out across the
ink-black harbor.
"Trust me! I shan't tell him."
"There are so many reasons why it is useless."
"Name one."
"One!" She shrugged lightly. "In the first place I care nothing for
you. Is not that enough?"
"No, indeed. You'll get over that."
"Let us imagine, then, the contrary. You Americans are entirely
different from our people. You are cold, deliberate, wicked-your social
customs are not like ours. You do not at all understand us. How then
could you be interested to meet a Spanish family?"
"Why, you're half American."
"Oh yes, although it is to be regretted. Even at school in your
Baltimore I learned many improper things, against which I have had to
struggle ever since."
"For instance?"
"Ah," she sighed, "I saw so much liberty; I heard of the shocking
conduct of your American ladies, and, while I know it is quite wrong
and wicked, still-it is interesting. Why, there is no other nice girl
in all Panama who would have talked with you as I did in the forest
that day."
"But what has all this to do with my coming to see you?"
"It is difficult to explain, since you will not understand. When a
young man is accepted into a Spanish house, many things are taken for
granted. Besides that, we do not know each other, you and I. Also, if
you should come to see me, it would cause gossip, misunderstanding
among my friends."
"I'll declare myself in advance," he promised warmly.
"No, no, no! We Spanish-Americans do not care for strangers. We have
our own people and we are satisfied. You Yankees are not very nice; you
are barbarous; you assume such liberties. Our young men are gentle,
modest, sweet--"
"Um-m! I hadn't noticed it."
"This is the first time I have ever talked so freely with a gentleman,
and I suppose it is immodest. After all, it is much better that old
people who are of more experience should discuss these questions."
"But don't you want to have a voice in your own affairs?" he eagerly
urged. "Do you really want your relatives to tell you whom to meet,
whom to love, and whom to marry?"
She answered, frankly: "Sometimes I feel that way. Yet at other times I
am sure they must know best."
"I don't believe you are the sort to shut your eyes and do exactly as
you're told."
"I do rebel sometimes. I protest, but it is only the American blood in
me."
"If you'd learn to know me a little bit, maybe you'd enjoy having me
around the house."
"But I cannot know you, any more than you can know me," she cried, with
a little gesture of despair at his dullness. "Don't you see--before we
could get acquainted nicely people would be talking?"
"Let's try. You're living at the country place again, aren't you?
Suppose I should get lost some day--tomorrow, for instance?"
"No, no! Listen. It is the warning bell, and we must return."
The crowd was filing into the theatre now. They fell in behind Senor
Garavel and Mrs. Cortlandt.
"I'm going hunting again tomorrow," prophesied Kirk, "and I'm almost
certain to lose my way-about three o'clock."
"You should take with you a guide."
"That's not a bad idea. I'd like to talk it over with you. Suppose we
have another stroll after the next act?"
"I shall be with my father. Never before have I enjoyed so much
liberty." She sighed gratefully.
"Oh, I detest your blamed, straitlaced Spanish customs," he cried,
hotly. "What do they amount to, anyhow? I love you. I do, I do-"
She laughed and darted to her father's side.
"Don't you think Miss Garavel is a pretty girl?" Mrs. Cortlandt
questioned, as they strolled toward their box.
"She's a dream." Anthony's tone left nothing unsaid.
"You got along together capitally. Most of the senoritas are
impossible."
"By the way, what is her name?"
"Gertrudis. Rather pleasing, I think."
Kirk thought so, too. In fact, it pleased him so greatly that he
thought of nothing else during the entire second act of "La Tosca." It
was even sweeter than the music of her hesitating accent.
When, after an age, the curtain fell for a second time, he escaped from
his companions, mumbling some excuse or other, and made haste to find
her again. But as he approached he felt a sudden pang of jealous rage.
Ramon Alfarez was beside her, and the two were chatting with an
appearance of intimacy that made him furious. Close at hand stood
Garavel, deep in conversation with Colonel Jolson.
"Ah, Ramon, I wish you to meet Mr. Anthony," said Gertrudis. "So! You
have met before?"
"In Colon," Kirk explained, while Alfarez scorched him with his eyes.
"Mr. Alfarez was very hospitable to me."
"Yes," the Spaniard exclaimed. "It is my great regret that Senor
Ant'ony did not remain for longer."
"Ramon is with the President's party this evening. He is Senor Galleo's
Secretary, you know."
"I informed you concerning those good fortunes some time since, eh?"
Ramon's insulting stare made Kirk long to take him by the throat.
"Yes, you told me. I suppose it is a fine position."
Alfarez swelled pompously. "I 'ave many responsibilities."