MARKEL AGAIN TO THE FRONT
“We will now go over to the City Hall,” said Professor Strong, when
they found themselves in the Plaza once more. “It is a spot full of
interest, especially for all people of South America, for it was to
them the Cradle of Liberty, the same as our Independence Hall at
Philadelphia.”
The building was but a step away, an ancient looking affair, with thick
adobe walls and small slits of windows. The rooms are, many of them,
small and uncomfortable, and the decorations tawdry to a degree.
“Independence was proclaimed here on July 5th, 1811,” said Professor
Strong, as they entered a council chamber located at one corner. “Here
the very best representatives of the country assembled to throw off
the yoke of Spain. Yonder is a faded picture depicting the event, and
the important looking document on the wall opposite is the declaration
itself. The paper was drawn up by Francisco Miranda, an able leader,
especially civilly, although he was not so successful in the battle
field as Simon Bolivar. Miranda was a great friend to La Fayette, and
when La Fayette sailed to America Miranda went with him and served
all through the Revolutionary War under Washington. This planted in
his breast the same seed of liberty that was planted in the breast of
Bolivar.”
“That shows how far-reaching was the influence of our Revolution,”
remarked Sam. “We threw that tea overboard to some purpose, didn’t we?”
“What is this thing?” asked Hockley, pointing to a faded banner hanging
close at hand.
“That is a relic of Pizarro at the time he went to conquer Peru. He
carried that banner all through his trail of fire and blood, doing it
in the name of the church, but with a cruelty only equaled by the worst
of savages. This is not the whole of the banner. It was cut in half and
the other portion is in the National Museum at Bogota.”
An hour was spent at the City Hall viewing other objects of interest,
including the great city marriage register and the various portraits on
the walls. Then they walked past the Municipal Theater and on to the
new market place, a neat building with cement floor, where the stalls
were divided by lattice-work.
“There is another market place,” said Professor Strong, “and at present
business is divided between the two. At the other place there are no
stalls, but the traders simply lay their stuff in a heap on the ground
and sit beside it.”
“How nice the vegetables and fruits look!” exclaimed Frank. “I never
saw anything fresher.”
“They have fresh vegetables the year around here, for they will grow at
any time the seed is put in the ground. They are all picked at night or
early in the morning and brought to the market on mule or donkey back.
You can see for yourself that they have all the ordinary vegetables
with which we are acquainted. They also have others, like for instance
that yucca, and the arrowroot, bread-fruit, and many kinds of bananas
and delicious pineapples.”
“There is an alligator pear,” said Mark. “I’ve seen them on some
high-toned fruit stands in New York.”
“The native name is aguacate. Did you notice the size of the
muskmelons? They are just as sweet as they look, and those big, long
whitish peas will melt like butter in your mouth.”
It was now growing hot, and they were glad enough to leave the market
place and go back to the hotel. As they rambled around they had met
many natives going to or coming from business, some faultlessly dressed
in white duck suits and broad Panama hats. Many of the hats were
exceedingly fine in texture.
“I once owned one that I used at times for six years,” said the
professor, speaking of the hats. “I could jam it in anywhere and it
always came forth looking as good as ever. But it cost me thirty-five
dollars.”
“Phew! that’s rather steep,” cried Darry. “But I’ve heard of such big
prices before.”
The boys had found the service at the hotel of the best. The servants
were numerous and did everything with a gravity which at times was to
them almost comical. They were very attentive to all details, and the
guests were not permitted to do a single thing for themselves.
“My gracious, I think they would eat for me if I asked them,” said
Darry. “Never saw such waiters in my life. That fellow pushed my chair
around for me, held the glass of water, handed the bill of fare and
didn’t give me a chance to lay it down, and held the butter pat while
I buttered my bread. It goes ahead of anything I ever experienced
before.”
“Reckon they’re laying back for tips,” growled Hockley. “I’ve heard
that all these foreign fellows think they can sponge on the Yankees
every time.”
“You won’t have to tip them,” answered Professor Strong, dryly. “I will
attend to that when I settle our bills.”
“Oh, I don’t mind tipping them,” answered the lank youth, hastily. “I
always give the waiters something at home.”
After lunch the whole party took it easy in the court by the fountain,
where there were numerous easy chairs and hammocks. Mark and Frank fell
asleep, and soon after Darry and Sam followed. But Hockley was restless
and at last got up to walk around.
He had just entered the office of the hotel when the clerk came toward
him holding up an envelope.
“A message for Mistair Jacob Hockley,” he said.
“That’s my name,” returned Hockley, and took the message wondering whom
it was from and what it contained.
It was a cablegram, sent from Curaçao, and was signed “Daniel Markel.”
It read as follows:
“Unexpectedly delayed. Coming to-morrow. Meet me at Hotel Ziroda.”
“So he was delayed and is coming to-morrow,” muttered Hockley, as he
gazed at the cablegram. “Hullo, it’s dated yesterday. In that case
he’ll be at the Hotel Ziroda to-day. I’d like to know what he has to
say for himself.”
Stuffing the message in his pocket he went up to the clerk and asked
that individual where the Hotel Ziroda was located. Receiving the
information he started to go back to where he had left the professor,
then suddenly changed his mind.
“He may refuse me if I ask him about going,” he mused. “I’d better go
and say nothing.” And off he started, bent on seeing Dan Markel and
learning what the man from Baltimore had to say for himself.
The Hotel Ziroda was an ancient hostelry, square in shape, with a small
arched doorway leading to the inevitable court inside. It had seen
better days and was far from prosperous. A greasy landlord sat in a
wicker chair, half asleep, and with a lighted cigar hanging from his
teeth.
“Hullo, are you the proprietor?” asked Hockley, touching him on the
arm.
“What do you want?” asked the man, in Spanish, as he tried to rouse up.
“I say, are you the proprietor?”
“_Si, señor._”
“Is there a man here by the name of Markel--Daniel Markel? He came from
Willemstad yesterday?”
“_Si, señor._ Markel, _señor_, he ees here. Come, I show you.”
With a profound sigh the hotel man arose and conducted Hockley through
the dirty court to a room in one corner of the building. He knocked and
a voice inside called out: “Who’s there?”
“It’s me,” answered Hockley, without regard to grammar.
“Me, who?”
“Hockley. I just got your cablegram.”
“Oh!” Markel leaped from the bed upon which he had been lying and
opened the door. “Glad to see you. Come in,” and Hockley went in, and
the hotel proprietor left the pair to themselves.
The room was large and scantily furnished, with a bed, washstand, table
and one chair. On the table stood Markel’s valise, a bottle of liquor
and a glass, and a box of cigars. The room was half full of smoke and
smelt far from pleasant.
“Never so sorry in all my life,” said the man from Baltimore, as he
drew up the chair for Hockley to sit down while he sank on the edge of
the bed. “I suppose you thought I had given you the go by.” He glanced
keenly at the lank youth to see the effect of his words.
“I--I didn’t know what to think,” stammered Hockley.
“When I found the steamer gone I was fairly wild, Hockley, indeed I
was. I said to myself, ‘He’ll think I’m a thief sure, for I’ve a cool
half hundred of his money.’ I wanted to send you word, but I was so
upset I forgot about the cable until afterwards. Here, have a drink and
I’ll tell you all about it.”
He handed Hockley the bottle and the glass, and the youth had not the
courage to resist. He took a small drink of the fiery stuff, which
fairly burnt his throat as he swallowed it.
“Well, how did it happen?” he questioned.
“It was a funny thing. I went ashore to transact a little business with
an old Dutch importer who used to do business with a firm that can
oysters in Baltimore. Well, while I was in the place two natives came
in and another native followed. First thing I knew one of the first
natives had picked the other’s pocket. The man who was robbed accused
the third native of the crime. There was a big row and they were going
to carry off the innocent man to jail when I stepped up and told the
old Dutchman how it was and what I had seen. A policeman was called,
and as a consequence I had to go to the station house and remain there
all night as a witness to the affair. I tried my best to get away and
to send you word, but I couldn’t do a thing with those sleepy Dutch
officials. They left me to my misery and there I had to remain until
ten o’clock the next morning. Then the case came up and what do you
think? Nobody made any charge and everybody was dismissed: Disgusted?
Well, of course I was, but what could I do?”
“It was enough to make anybody mad,” was Hockley’s comment.
“I threatened to sue the city for false imprisonment, but they only
laughed at me. So then I hunted up a vessel bound for La Guayra and
finally sent the cablegram--and here I am. How have you been?”
“Oh, I’m well enough.”
“Seen anything of the city?”
“Yes, the professor has piloted us to one place and another. But it’s
mighty slow looking at old buildings and documents and pictures, I
didn’t come for that. I came for a good time.”
“Right you are, and a good time you shall have, so long as we are
together. I promised to show you the ins and outs of Caracas and I’m
going to do it,” concluded Dan Markel as he slapped Hockley on the
back. “We’ll paint the town red, eh?”