THE PROFESSOR MEETS AN OLD FRIEND
“How does the ankle feel?” asked Frank, on the morning following the
arrival at the hotel.
“Somewhat sore, but I can stand on it,” answered Mark. “I guess it will
be all right again in a day or two;” and it was, although Mark was
careful of the member for some time longer.
Under the guidance of the professor the boys made several tours of the
city. They first visited the Capitol building, but a short distance
from their hotel. The Capitol is but one story high, but it occupies an
entire square, and is by far the finest building in Venezuela. In the
center is a large court, where a fountain plays constantly and where
grow the most beautiful of tropical flowers. Here are a number of rich
marble statues.
Opening up from the court are the various official offices--the Senate
and Chamber of Deputies, Interior and War Departments, Supreme Court,
and others. At one end is a large hall, two hundred feet long, with
inlaid flooring, where public receptions are held. Here can also be
found the portraits of various notables of Venezuelan history.
“This is Simon Bolivar, the Washington of South America,” said the
professor, as they stopped in front of a massive portrait at the end
of the gallery. “He was born in this city in 1783, of wealthy parents
of rank, and was sent to Spain to be educated. He became a lawyer
and traveled extensively. While visiting the United States he became
infused with the spirit of liberty, and returning home joined the
patriots who were trying to throw off the yoke of Spain. He fought
in a number of battles and then went to England to ask for aid from
that country. But England would grant him nothing, and to escape the
wrath of Spain he had to flee to Curaçao. But he was not disheartened,
and soon after returned to South America. He began to raise troops of
volunteers, and fought many more battles, in nearly all of which he
was victorious. At last in 1813, he entered Caracas as a conqueror,
was hailed as a liberator, and made absolute dictator in civil and
military affairs. More battles followed, and Bolivar had to flee again,
this time to Hayti. But he was undaunted, and coming back whipped the
Spaniards once more and helped to unite New Granada and Venezuela into
the Republic of Colombia. After that he went to Peru and aided the
Peruvians in establishing their freedom and a part of the country was
named Bolivia in his honor. He died in 1842.”
“Certainly a great man,” said Darry. “What a lot of excitement he must
have passed through!”
“He certainly did. At first he was but little appreciated, but as time
goes by the people realize what a truly great man he was.”
“There is a statue of him in Central Park, New York,” put in Frank. “I
have seen it a number of times, and so has Mark.”
“You will find statues of Bolivar all over South America and also in
Central America and Mexico. When the folks here realized what he had
done for them, they went wild, and his ashes were brought here with
great pomp and ceremony. He is undoubtedly the foremost figure in South
American history for three hundred years.”
Professor Strong had received a pass to the Senate Chamber, and they
took a brief look at this somewhat bare apartment, with its stiff
chairs, and its absence of regular desks.
“Does the President get much?” asked Hockley, as they came to a halt
out in the court where the fountain was playing.
“I believe his salary is $12,000 a year. Besides this he gets his house
and servants free, also his livery, the same as our own President. But
you must remember that the President here is a good deal of a dictator
and can use the money of the government pretty much as he pleases.
Sometimes a president draws money to suit himself, and then comes a
revolution. This is not alone true of Venezuela, but it is true of many
other South American republics.”
Before leaving the Capitol building they looked in at the Treasury
Department, and Frank asked about the money of the country.
“I’ve got some of their silver, but I must say I can’t tell what it
is,” he said.
“Well, this is a bolivar,” said the professor, taking a silver piece
somewhat smaller than our quarter from his pocket. “This bolivar is
worth twenty cents. The next smaller coin is a real, worth ten cents.
Then comes a medio, five cents, a quartillo, two-and-a-half cents, and
a centavo, which explains itself.”
“But isn’t there anything larger than a bolivar?” asked Darry.
“Yes, there are two and two-and-a-half bolivars, and a peso fuerte,
which is worth one dollar. After that come the gold coins, worth four
dollars and twenty dollars. I will show you all of them when we get
back to the hotel.”
Leaving the Capitol, they crossed the square to a beautiful building of
white marble. This is the Central University, the leading institution
of learning of the Republic.
“This is not a large college as such institutions are counted in our
country,” said the professor. “There are, I was told, about thirty
professors and the students number about 400. But the course of study
is very thorough, and embraces literature, art, law, medicine, science,
engineering and theology. Here is also located the National Library of
forty-five thousand volumes, many of which are rare and valuable. We
will walk through, for I am inclined to think there is a professor here
with whom I am well acquainted.”
They walked through the library building first, with its long shelves
of books and its cabinets of rare folios, and then into the college
proper. Here the professor hailed a passing student and asked
concerning his friend.
“_Si, señor_, he is here,” said the student, in Spanish. “He teaches
our class in engineering. Would you like to see him?”
“I would indeed,” answered Professor Strong. “He and I were college
students together.”
“Then follow me to the class room. He is at his desk. The session has
not yet begun.”
Passing through a long and high corridor, they came to one of the
class-rooms and entered. At a tall desk at one end sat a man of
forty-five, working out a problem on a sheet of paper. He was evidently
a Spaniard but one who had seen a great deal of the world.
“How are you, Morano,” said the professor, stepping up and touching him
on the arm.
The professor in engineering started up and stared for a moment. Then
his face broke out into a warm smile, and he caught Professor Strong in
both arms after the fashion of many foreigners.
“Strong, my own very dear friend, Amos Strong!” he cried, in a rich
Spanish accent. “Where in the world have you come from, and when did
you arrive? It is wonderful! I am so glad! You are yourself, but you
look older. And these boys? Some of your sons perhaps?” And he took the
professor’s hands and shook them over and over again.
“I am glad to see you, Morano,” was the professor’s equally warm reply.
“It is fully fifteen years since we parted, in Paris, after a tour of
the Old World. I tried to see you when I was here before, but you were
down in Peru, helping to build a railroad bridge.”
“Yes, that is so, I remember now. I could not stand it to teach--it is
so hard, so steady, so confining. Outside it is different. One gets the
air, one can walk about, and one is more happy. Then these are your
sons? What are their names?”
“No, they are not my sons. I am not married.”
“Indeed! A happy bachelor. So am I. Then they are----?”
“They are my pupils. I have brought them to South America to show them
something of the country.” The professor brought each one forward and
mentioned his name. “Boys, this is Professor Enrique Morano, a very
dear friend of mine, who once attended Yale with me, and who afterward
made a tour of Europe with me and several other students.”
“I am charmed to meet so many from the dear United States,” said
Professor Morano, as he shook hands all around. “It is a great country
and I am sorry I could not remain in it longer. But my respected
father--peace to his ashes!--wished me to return.”
“Then your father is dead?” asked Professor Strong.
“Yes, he died but four months ago. He took a trip to Nicaragua, and the
journey was too hard for him. He left me utterly alone. But I should
not bother you with my family afflictions. You are of course stopping
in Caracas.”
“Yes,” and Professor Strong mentioned the hotel.
“You must come to my home--it is just outside of the city, on the road
to Valencia. I am alone there with the servants and I will be pleased
to have company, and doubly pleased that it is you. You must make the
home your own.”
“We shall be pleased to call,” said Professor Strong.
“Why cannot you go there this evening, after the session is over here?”
urged Enrique Morano. “We must talk of old times, must we not? Your
pupils can inspect the coffee plantation which my late father purchased
just before he died. It is now mine, but I must confess I know not
what to do with it. I am no planter. I am but a civil engineer and--a
hunter, like yourself,” and the Spanish teacher laughed.
“We will go, and gladly,” answered Amos Strong. “I wish the boys to
examine a coffee plantation thoroughly.”
“Will you be at the hotel at five o’clock? If so I will send my
carriage for you.”
So it was arranged, and in a moment more they left the class room, for
while the conversation was going on the place had been filling with
pupils, many of whom stared curiously at the strangers.
“A nice man,” was Darry’s comment when they were outside. He turned to
the professor: “I don’t wonder you took to him for a college friend.”
“There is no better man than Henry Morano,” was Amos Strong’s reply. “I
liked him from the first. He is a splendid scholar and an equally good
hunter in the bargain. You can rest assured of a good time when you are
in his company. We are very fortunate in meeting him.”