CUDDLEHEAD DECIDES ON AN ADVENTURE
Toward noon of a stifling day, the major and Mr. Cuddlehead met in
the square by the waterfront. Cuddlehead greeted the major affably.
As the major was very thirsty he returned the salutation. A glance
through the door at his elbow displayed, to Mr. Cuddlehead's
uncertain eyes, a number of round tables with chairs about them. He
took out his watch and examined it.
"Eleven-thirty--I always take something at half-past eleven. I hope
you will join me," he said.
"I seldom drink before lunch," replied Farrington, "but as this is an
exceptionally dry day--"
They passed through the doorway and sat down at the nearest table.
"Now I will find out what is doing," thought Cuddlehead, and gave his
order. But for a long time the major's tongue refused to be
loosened. He sipped his liquor, and watched his companion with eyes
of unfriendly suspicion. Cuddlehead, in the meantime, exhibited an
excellent temper, put a few casual questions, and chatted about small
things of general interest.
Now Cuddlehead had heard, from the captain of the mail-boat,
something about a wealthy American with a bee in his bonnet and a
pretty daughter, somewhere within reach of Pernambuco. The story had
grown upon him, and a great idea had taken shape in his scheming
mind. Why shouldn't he, if all that people said and wrote about
American girls was true? By gad, he'd make a shot at it. He'd show
them how to spend their money in more interesting places than the
back of nowhere. As soon as the major began to look more friendly,
under the influence of the crude whiskey, he produced his
cigar-case,--a fat black leather affair, with an engraved silver
plate on the front of it,--and offered the old man an excellent weed
of Havana. The major took it, glancing keenly, but swiftly, at the
initials on the case as he did so. "P. doesn't stand for
Cuddlehead," he thought, but said nothing.
"Tell me something about the man who owns a whole country, somewhere
back here, in the bush," urged Cuddlehead, lightly. The old man's
muddled wits awoke and jerked a warning. Here was some scum of
Heaven knows where, wanting to interfere in a better man's business.
"What's that, my boy?" he asked, looking stupidly interested.
"Oh, it is of no importance. It just struck me as being a bit out of
the way," replied the other.
"What?" inquired the major.
"The place Mr. Tetson hangs out," laughed Cuddlehead.
"It's all that, my boy," replied Farrington, gleefully; then he
stared, open-mouthed. "At least," he added, "it may be, but what the
hell are you gabbing about?"
"Sorry. Had no idea it was a secret," retorted the younger man.
The major's potations flooded to his head. His face took on a darker
shade of crimson. His hands twitched on the table.
"Secrets! You d--n little sneak," he roared, staggering up and
overturning his chair. The expression of insolence faded from
Cuddlehead's face. He dashed out of the place without paying for the
bottle of whiskey. On the pavement he paused, long enough to compose
his features and straighten his necktie. Then he went to the
ship-chandler and gathered a wealth of information concerning Harris
William Tetson. But he heard no mention of Hemming being in the
country, which was, perhaps, just as well. He was certainly a sneak,
as more than the major had called him, but he was not altogether a
duffer. He could look after himself to a certain extent. He decided
to keep Pernambuco until later, and go now for bigger game. He made
his plans speedily, fearing another meeting with the major, and early
next morning started along the coast, inside the reef, as a passenger
aboard a native _barcassa_. The voyage to the mouth of the river
Plado would take the better part of a day. He would wait in the
little village for Mr. Tetson's steam-launch, which made weekly runs
to the coast for mail and supplies.