"I 'ave indeed the honor to be his intimate!"
"He's the tallest negro I ever saw," Kirk said, simply, at which the
haughty Ramon seemed about to explode, and Miss Garavel quite
shamelessly giggled.
"That is funny," she exclaimed. "But you must not tease Ramon. You
understand, the voice of the people has made Galleo President, but no
one forgets that he is not one of us."
Her youthful countryman twisted his mustache with trembling fingers.
"It is politics!" he declared. "And yet Galleo is a great man; I am
honor' to be his Secretary. But by the grace of God our next President
will be w'ite."
"Ramon's father, Don Anibal, you know." Gertrudis nodded wisely at the
American. "We are very proud of Ramon, he is so young to be high in
politics."
"Eh! Yes, and many of our bravest patriots 'ave been black men."
"Oh, we've had some brave negroes, too," Kirk acknowledged.
"So! You see!" Alfarez was triumphant.
"The greatest fighter we ever had was a colored chap."
"Ah!"
"His name was Gans--Joe Gans."
"You are still joking," said Miss Garavel. "In Baltimore I read the
newspapers about that Gans. He was a-box-fighter, what?"
"Exactly. But he never carried a Secretary."
Alfarez's countenance was sallow as he inquired:
"Does Senor Ant'ony discover our climate to be still agreeable?"
"Very. It hasn't grown too warm for me yet."
"We are but approaching our 'ot season." The speaker's eyes snapped.
"Oh, I'll stand the heat all right, and the mosquitoes, too."
"Eh! Do not be too sure. The mosquito makes a leetle buzzing-but it is
well to take warning. If not, behol', some day you grow ver' seeck."
Heretofore Kirk had hated Ramon in a careless, indifferent sort of way,
feeling that he owed him a good drubbing, which he would be pleased to
administer if ever a fitting time arrived. But now, since he saw that
the jackanapes had the audacity to love Gertrudis, his feeling became
intense. The girl, of course, was fully alive to the situation, and,
although she evidently enjoyed it, she did her best to stand between
the two men.
As for Alfarez, he was quick to feel the sudden fierce hostility he had
aroused, and it seemed to make him nervous. Moreover, he conceived that
he had scored heavily by his last retort, at which Kirk had only
smiled. It therefore seemed best to him to withdraw from the
conversation (annoyingly conducted in English), and a few moments later
he stalked majestically away. This was just what Kirk wanted, and he
quickly suggested the balcony. But Gertrudis was obstinate.
"I must remain with my father," she said.
"May I sit beside you, then? I've been thinking of a lot of things to
say. I always think of bully remarks when it's too late. Now I've
forgotten them. Do you know, I'm going to nestle up to your father and
make him like me?"
"Again you are speaking of that subject. I have known you but an hour,
and you talk of nothing but my father, of me, of coming to call."
"Well, I can't think of anything else."
"You are too bold. Spanish fathers do not like such young men. But to
hear me talk!" She flushed slightly. "I have lost all modesty to speak
of those things. You force me to embarrass myself."
"I was an instantaneous success with Miss Torres' father. He was ready
to send a dray for my trunks."
"Let us discuss other things."
"I haven't the strength. You once spoke of a chap your people had
picked out. It isn't-Alfarez?"
She let her dark eyes rest upon his a moment, and his senses swam. Then
she nodded slowly.
"You do not like him?"
"Just like a nose-bleed. The day you and I are married I'm going to
send him a wreath of poison ivy."
"It pleases you always to joke."
"No joke about that. You won't give in, will you?"
"There is no question of force nor of surrender, senor. I insist now
that we shall speak of other things."
A few moments later he was constrained to rejoin his hostess' party.
"When are you going back to Las Savannas?" he asked, as he reluctantly
arose.
"To-morrow."
"The hunting ought to be good-"
But she frowned at him in annoyance, and he left her, after all,
without knowing whether he had gained or lost ground. Of one thing only
he was sure-their meeting had been in some respects a disappointment.
She was not by any means so warm and impulsive as he had supposed. Her
girlishness, her simplicity, her little American ways, cloaked a deep
reserve and a fine sense of the difference in their positions. She
could be Spanish enough when she chose, he perceived, and he felt, as
he was intended to feel, that the little lady of quality he had met
to-night would be much harder to win than the girl of the woods. The
plague of it was that, if anything, he was more in love with the
definite and dazzling Gertrudis Garavel than he had been with the
mysteriously alluring Chiquita. If only she were all American, or even
all Spanish, perhaps he would know better how to act. But,
unfortunately, she was both-just enough of both to be perplexing and
wholly unreliable. And then, too, there was Alfarez!
XX
AN AWAKENING
He was in no more satisfactory frame of mind when, on the next
afternoon, he shouldered his gun and set out for the country. He went
directly to the fairy pool, and waited there in a very fever of
anxiety. Despite the coolness and peace of the place, he felt his
pulses throb and his face burn. If she came, it would mean everything
to him. If she stayed away-why, then he would have to believe that,
after all, the real Gertrudis Garavel had spoken last night at the
opera, and that the sprightly, mirthful little maid who had bewitched
him on their first meeting no longer existed. An odd bashfulness
overtook him. It did not seem to him that it could possibly have been
he who had talked to her so boldly only the evening before. At the
thought of his temerity he felt almost inclined to flee, yet he would
not have deserted his post for worlds. The sound of a voice shot
through his troubled thoughts like a beam of sunlight through a dark
room.
"Oh, Senor Antonio! How you startled me!"
Instantly his self-possession came back. He felt relieved and gay.
"Good-afternoon, queen!" He rose and bowed politely. "I thought I saw
one underneath the waterfall just now."
"Who would have expected you to be here?" she cried, with an extreme
and obviously counterfeit amazement that filled him with delight.
"I'm lost," he declared; then, after one look into her eyes, he added,
"Absolutely, utterly, irretrievably lost."
"It is very fortunate that I chanced to be passing, for this is a
lonely spot; nobody ever comes here."
"Well, I hardly ever lose myself in busy places. Won't you sit down?"
"Since we have met quite by accident, perhaps it would not be so very
improper," She laughed mischievously.
"You know I've been lost now for several months. It's a delightful
feeling-you ought to try it."
She settled uncertainly beside him like a butterfly just alighting,
ready to take flight again, on the instant.
"Perhaps I can help you to find your way, senor?" she said, with
ingenuous politeness.
"You are the only one who can, Miss Garavel. I don't know that I ever
told you, but I'm in love."
"Indeed?"
"I am the most miserably happy person in the world, for I have just
this moment begun to believe that the young lady likes me a little bit."
"Oh! But I forgot the real reason why I came. I have something I must
tell you."
"All right. But honestly now, didn't you WANT to come?"
She turned upon him in a little burst of passion. "Yes!" she cried. "Of
course I did! I wished to come, madly, senor. There is no use to lie.
But wait! It is wholly because I am a-what you call fleert-a very sad
fleert." No one could possibly describe the quaint pronunciation she
gave the word. "It makes my heart patter, like that"--she made her
little fingers "patter"-"to be wooed even by a Yankee. But I do not
love you in the least. Oh no! Even if I wished to do so, there are too
many reasons why I could not, and when I explain you will understand."
"I know; it's Ramon Alfarez. You're half-way engaged to him--but you
know you don't love him."
"Ah! It is not too sure. He is of fine family, he is rich, he is
handsome-not possibly could I care for any man who was not all of
those. All my life I have thought him a very sweet gentleman, and for a
long time it has been agreed that I should be his wife. Even all the
young ladies are furious at me, which is very nice also-so it is only
because I am disobedient that I rebelled. But I was punished for my
evil disposition." She sighed mournfully. "And now it is all arranged
once more."
"Is it really signed, sealed, stamped, and delivered in the presence
of?"
"No, no; but 'Arco siempre armado'-"
"Of course. Is that a prescription?"
'"A bow long bent grows weak.' And there are so many reasons why I
should say yes."
"You haven't mentioned any that would be binding in law."
"My father's wish. Is not that sufficient?"
"You disregarded that once."
"That was but a flutter. All the time I knew I should be Ramon's wife
when the time arrived. But it made him so unhappy that I was quite
pleased. Only for those ugly blue dresses, I would have greatly enjoyed
my penance. Perhaps I could refuse to wed a man my father chose for me,
but no nice Spanish girl would dare to wed a man her father did not
like. Do you see?"
"But it's no cinch your father won't positively hunger for me, once we
get chummy."
"And I for Ramon? How sad that would be, eh?"
"Really, now, couldn't you bring yourself to marry a chap who wasn't
aristocratic, rich, and handsome? You know that's a tough combination.
Most aristocratic people are poor, and the rich ones have dyspepsia."
"Oh no! I am quite certain."
"Suppose I should show you a family tree that you couldn't throw a
stone over?"
"It would not do at all. I am so extravagant."
"I fully intend to be rich, some time."
"But you are not handsome, senor." Her eyes travelled over him with a
mischievous twinkle. "You are too beeg."
"I'm very durable; I'd last a long time."
She shook her dark head decisively, and he saw the lights that rippled
in her profuse crown of hair.
"You are too different, you disregard our customs, you are bold. You
continue to come here against my wishes, which no Spanish gentleman
would dare to do."
"Oh, I'm no Spanish gentleman. I'm just an emotional blond; but I'm
bound to marry you."
"If one of my countrymen found me so indiscreet as to talk with him
alone like this, he would go away and never come back. I am amazed at
you, senor. Have you no pride?"
"Not a bit; and now that I have met all your objections, let's arrange
the details. Shall it be a church wedding?"
She laughed deliciously. "What a nice game it is we have played! But
now I must talk seriously."
"You witch!" he breathed. "Do you think I could ever give you up?"
She checked him gravely. "Truly, it was just a game--and yet it was not
altogether so, either. But here is what I came to say. The strangest
thing has happened-not until last night after the opera did I even
dream of it, and-even now I cannot believe. Oh, I am so proud!"
"More bad news for me, I suppose."
"Yes. But such good news for me that I am sure you will be glad."
Timidly he reached out and touched a fold of her white dress. She
seemed to be slipping from him. "Coming home from the theatre my father
told me-oh, the most wonderful thing! He said-but how shall I speak of
such a secret?"
"Evidently you don't intend to."
"I promised very faithfully not to tell, so-he is to be the next
President of Panama."
"Pres--" Anthony stared at her in frank amazement. "Why, I thought old
man Alfarez--"
"It seems your country does not like him because he hates
Americans-see? This is the work of that Mr. Cortlandt. Think! Is it not
wonderful? Now that you know the truth, you must see at once that by no
means could I marry to a person like you."
"Why not?"
"Ohe! Don't you understand? I shall be the finest lady in the Republic.
All men will adore me. I will have suitors-not one or two as now, but
many. I will be 'the beautiful Senorita Garavel,' for all the great
people are beautiful. I shall be proud, also, and I shall not even
speak to Yankees any more. My father will be the most famous man of all
the Republic-perhaps in the whole world, I don't know."
"I don't think it will make any difference with him when he knows who I
am."
"Then you also are a great man, eh?" She hitched herself about, to face
him more squarely. "That is truly interesting. He would scarcely wish a
railroad conductor to address the daughter of President Garavel."
"Oh, I've been promoted since I was out here last. Anyhow, I guess my
dad is pretty nearly as good as anybody in Panama."
"He is, then, of blue blood?"
"No! Red."
"Oh, but a gentleman!"
"He is now. He used to be a brakeman."
"You appear to be-proud of such a thing! How strange! My father's blood
runs back to the conquistadors; even in the earliest books one finds
Garavels. They were conquerors, they ruled this country and all these
people."
"That's something to be proud of, but it isn't everything. High-bred
horses run well, but they can't pull. It's the old farm nag that
delivers the merchandise. But I'll tackle your father, and I'll promise
to vote for him."
"You are very fonny." She gazed at him seriously, one tiny foot curled
under her, her chin nestling into her palm.
"Do you love me?"
"Not one single speck. I merely like you to make love at me and cause
my heart to jomp! But that is not fair to you, is it?-since you can
have no hope."
The little hypocrite continued to voice words of warning and denial,
though her eyes invited him, and for a long time they continued this
delightful play of pleading and evasion. But at last Chiquita jumped up
with a great appearance of alarm.
"Heavens! the time," she cried. "I have stayed too long by much.
Stephanie will miss me."
He rose and stretched out his hand as if to hold her.
"Shall I come again to-morrow?"
She grew suddenly earnest.
"No, no, senor. That is something you should not ask. If ever we are to
meet again, it must be with my father's consent. Please! Do not urge,
for truly I would have to refuse." She let her palm rest in his an
instant, and her cheek went scarlet as he pressed it to his lips. Then
she said: "Go, Mr. Brazen One. How greatly it surprised me to find you
here I cannot say. It gave me such a start! And, Senor Antonio--my
father may be found any day at his bank." Before he could detain her
she was gone, flitting up the path with just one flashing smile of
mischief over her shoulder.
Anthony went home with his head in the clouds. All his doubts were now
at rest; for while Chiquita had stubbornly denied him all
encouragement, he felt sure that her heart had answered. It was in the
highest spirits, therefore, that he opened a letter he found awaiting
him, and read as follows:
DEAR KIRK,--I hope you are heartily sick of yourself and ready to do
something decent for a change. Knowing your aristocratic habits as I
do, I realize you must owe a lot of money by this time, and your new
friends must be getting tired of you. I have been expecting you to draw
on me daily, and am taking this occasion to warn you in your own
expensively acquired college English that "THERE IS NOTHING
DOING"--except upon one condition. If you will agree to behave yourself
in future, I will pay your debts, send you West, and give you a job as
operator at forty dollars a month. BUT--you will go where I send you,
and you will stay where you are put. I will do the thinking for both of
us and judge of your associates. Maybe if you prove to be any good at
all, I will arrange with the police to let you spend your vacations in
"that dear New York," which still shows signs of your red--paint brush.
I would be pleased to have an apology by return mail, so that I may
meet you in New Orleans and start you off once more on the road to
decency and self-respect. You will never be a success at anything, but
I am always ready to do my duty. This is my last offer, and if you
refuse you may distinctly and definitely go to the devil. As ever,
Your loving father, DARWIN K. ANTHONY.
P.S.--I can get GOOD operators for thirty dollars a month. The extra
ten dollars is pure sentiment.
Kirk had known in advance just about what the letter contained, and now
laughed aloud. It was so like the old gentleman! Why, he could almost
hear him dictating it.
Spurred by his present exhilaration, he wrote an answer, which he read
with a good deal of satisfaction before sealing it up.
DEAR DAD,-Your affectionate letter, with the kind offer to take charge
of a siding out in the Dakotas, is at hand. I would like to help you
along with your business, but "Upward and onward" is my motto, and
you'll have to raise that salary a bit. I am drawing two hundred and
twenty-five dollars a month at present, quarters furnished and
promotion promised. I have made some good investments, and there are no
debts to settle. Enclosed find my last bank statement, which will
doubtless prove a great disappointment to you.
If you need a good Master of Transportation, I would be pleased to
consider an offer at any time, provided the salary is satisfactory, but
your proposal to edit my acquaintances is out of the question. My
decency and self respect are doing well, thank you, and I like the
climate.
Outside my window a mocking-bird sings nightly, and I have a tame
rabbit with ears like a squirrel and baby-blue eyes--also a Jamaican
negro boy who, I fear, could not stand our harsh Northern winters.
The salary would have to be about six thousand a year. As always,
Your devoted and obedient son, KIRK.
P.S.--I would not care to locate farther west than Buffalo. My wife
might not like it.
"If he survives the first part, that tag line will put him down for the
count," mused the writer, with a grin. "And, yet, something tells me he
will not embrace my offer. Ah, well! Promotion is slow." He whistled
blithely as he sent Allan off to the post-office.
Kirk lost no time in calling at the bank, but was disappointed to learn
that Senor Andres Garavel had left the city for an unexpected business
tour of the Provinces and would not return for at least two weeks. At
first he was inclined to doubt the truth of this statement, but a
casual inquiry from Mrs. Cortlandt confirmed it, and, cursing his luck,
he sought distraction where he could most easily find it.
In the days that followed he saw nothing of Gertrudis, but a good deal
of Edith Cortlandt. She had redeemed her promise of getting him a good
horse-something rare in this country-and he was grateful for the
exercise, which came as a welcome relief from his indoor toil. They
rode almost daily; he dined at her house, and once again made one of
her party at the opera. Soon their old friendly intercourse was going
on as if it had never been interrupted.
As for Edith, this unsatisfying, semi-public intimacy came to be quite
as much a pain as a pleasure to her. During these past few weeks she
had been plunged in a mental turmoil, the signs of which she had
concealed with difficulty. She had fought with herself; she had tried
to reason; she had marshalled her pride, but all in vain. At last she
awoke to the terrifying certainty that she was in love. It had all
begun with that moment of impulsive surrender at Taboga. The night
following had been terrible to her. In its dark hours she had seen her
soul for the first time, and the glimpse she got frightened her.
Following this, she became furious with herself, then resentful toward
Anthony; next she grew desperate and reckless.
She began to look upon her husband with a quickened curiosity, and
found him a stranger. For years she had made allowance for his
weaknesses, ignoring them as she ignored his virtues; but never before
had he appeared so colorless, so insignificant, above all so alien. She
had barely tolerated him hitherto, but now she began to despise him.
If Cortlandt was aware of her change of feeling and its cause, his
method of dealing with her showed some keenness. Silent contempt was
what she could least endure from him of all men; yet this was just what
his manner toward her expressed-if it expressed anything. Beyond those
words as they were leaving the island, he had said nothing, had never
referred to the incident, had not so much as mentioned Anthony's name
unless forced to do so, and this offended her unreasonably. She caught
him regarding her strangely at times with a curious, faltering
expression, but he was so icy in his reserve, he yielded so easily to
her predominance, that she could divine nothing and turned the more
fiercely to her inward struggle. Even if he did suspect, what then? It
was no affair of his; she was her own mistress. She had given him all
he possessed, she had made a man of him. He was her creature, and had
no rights beyond what she chose to give. They saw less and less of each
other. He became more formal, more respectfully unhusbandlike. He spent
few daylight hours in the house, coming and going as he pleased,
frequenting the few clubs of the city, or riding alone. On more than
one occasion he met her and Anthony on their horses. Only before
others, or at their frequent political councils, were they quite the
same as they had been.
Of Anthony, on the other hand, she arranged to see more than ever,
flattering him by a new deference in her manner, making him feel always
at ease with her, watching him vainly for the least sign of awakening
desire. In their frequent rides they covered most of the roads about
the city, even to the ruins of old Panama. Then they began to explore
the by-paths and trails.
One afternoon they turned into an unfrequented road that led off to the
jungle from the main highway, walking their horses while they marvelled
at the beauty of the foliage. The trail they knew led to a coffee
plantation far up among the hills, but it was so little travelled that
the verdure brushed them as they went, and in many places they passed
beneath a roof of branches. Before they had penetrated a quarter of a
mile they were in the midst of an unbroken solitude, shut off from the
world by a riotous glory of green, yellow, and crimson. They had not
spoken for a long time, and were feeling quite content with the
pleasant monotony of--their journey, when they burst out into a rocky
glen where a spring of clear water bubbled forth. With a common impulse
they reined in; Twenty feet farther on the trail twisted into the
screen of verdure and was lost.
"What a discovery!" exclaimed Edith. "Help me down, please, I'm going
to drink."
Kirk dismounted and lent her a hand; the horses snorted appreciatively,
and stepping forward, thrust their soft muzzles eagerly into the
stream, then fell to browsing upon the tender leaves at their shoulders.
Edith quenched her thirst, shook the cramp from her limbs, and said:
"Some time we will have to see where this road leads. There may be more
surprises beyond." She broke a flower from its stem and fastened it in
Kirk's buttonhole, while he gazed down at her with friendly eyes.
"You're looking awfully well lately," he declared.
Glancing up, she met his gaze and held it for an instant. "It's the
open air and the exercise. I enjoy these rides with you more than I can
say." Something in her look gave him a little thrill of embarrassment.
"I think I'll give Marquis and Gyp their dessert," he said, and,
turning aside, began to gather a handful of the greenest leaves. The
instant his eyes were off her, she took the horses by their bridles,
swung them about, and with a sharp blow of her riding-crop sent them
snorting and clattering down the trail. Kirk wheeled barely in time to
see them disappearing.
"Here!" he cried, sharply. "What are you doing?"
"They bolted."
"They'll hike straight for town. Now I'll have to chase--" He glanced
at her sharply. "Say, why did you do that?"
"Because I wanted to. Isn't that reason enough?" Her eyes were reckless
and her lips white.
"You shouldn't do a thing like that!" he cried, gruffly. "It's foolish.
Now I'll have to run them down."
"Oh, you can't catch them."
"Well, I'll have a try at it, anyhow." He tossed away his handful of
leaves.
"Silly! I did it because I wanted to talk with you."
"Well, those horses wouldn't overhear."
"Don't be angry, Kirk. I haven't seen you alone since that night."