THE CONSUL'S DAUGHTER.
From the window of his chamber in the Hotel Trinidad, James Vincent
Morrison looked upon the city of Rosa Blanca and cursed it for a hot,
festering, vile-smelling tropic hole. Although he was clad only in B.
V. D.'s, these were wringing wet, and perspiration was still oozing
from his pores and irritating him as it trickled down his body. It was
the hottest part of the day, 2 P.M., and everybody else was
indulging in a siesta. Jim's body was too uncomfortable, and he had too
much on his mind.
The window looked upon the Plaza of Rosa Blanca, capital city of the
Central American republic of Santa Rosa. A hundred yards across the
park he could see the palace of the president, a long, low plaster
building set back in a garden and protected by a high brick and plaster
wall, against which two sentries were leaning, probably asleep on their
feet.
The Plaza was the business center of Rosa Blanca, but with the
exception of colored folks sleeping on the benches of the park, no
human being was in sight. There were a lot of mangy dogs wandering
about, and a black and white goat.
So bright was the sun, reflected as it was by the white walls of
the buildings, that it hurt Jim's eyes to look out, and the air was
permeated by a subtle but unpleasant perfume which offended his
nostrils.
Just the nasty capital of a rotten little banana republic, he
reflected, and any white man who didn't leave by the first boat was a
fool. He was a fool. He could have sailed on the fruit steamer this
morning, and if it wasn't for Ellen he certainly would have done so.
For a week he had been lingering in Rosa Blanca--"White Rose," a lovely
name for this pest hole--because Ellen Goring was here. Although she
had indicated emphatically that she didn't want to marry him, he would
hang around until she changed her mind; it might be for years and it
might be forever.
Only seven days ago Jim Morrison had come down from the chief Morrison
banana plantation to take the ship for New York. Although it had not
been frightfully hot in the hills, it had been gosh-darned lonesome,
for the manager and his wife, even if they were efficient banana
raisers, were social duds; didn't even play bridge.
Coming down to Santa Rosa had been his father's idea; just a scheme to
get him away from Gladys Glower of the Follies, with whom he hadn't
been in love at all. Tom Morrison had told Jim it was time he got
acquainted with the source of the family income, and had practically
shipped him out of New York. Having been marooned among the banana
trees for a month, he had driven down to Rosa Blanca a week ago and
arrived at cocktail time. The next morning he was to start home.
Holding forth at the bar of the Hotel Trinidad was a fat man in
whites; a soft, paunchy, loose-mouthed, blear-eyed old nuisance who was
discussing American politics, expressing the dreariest blather in an
unpleasant voice.
As Morrison was a newcomer the man had fixed on him, practically
buttonholed him. After listening with growing impatience to his
drool for a quarter of an hour, Jim lost his temper, something he
lost easily, and expressed his opinion of bores so pungently and
objectionably that the old man got furious and called him an ignorant
young whippersnapper.
"I'd rather be that than a chattering superannuated ape," Jim retorted,
and if the two or three Americans present hadn't held the paunchy
person by the arms there would have been a real fight.
* * * * *
Leaving the bar in disgust, Morrison went into the dingy dining room
and was led to a seat and a menu thrust into his hand by a black
waiter. He did not consult it, however. Facing him, and only a few
tables distant, was the most exquisite, most delectable, most glorious
and most desirable girl in the world. With her was an elderly woman,
drab, stern-visaged, starchy and argus-eyed, whom he put down as a
missionary.
The girl had dark hair parted in the middle and caught in a knob at
the back of her neck; long hair, mind you; and she had the largest
brown eyes that ever adorned a female face. Her nose was small and
saucily tilted, her mouth small, whimsical and expressive, her chin
determined--and it had a dimple in it.
The woman with her said something and she smiled, which exhibited two
rows of sublime teeth, and disclosed another dimple in the center of
her right cheek. Her complexion was blond, despite her dark hair, a
rare combination, and, in Jim's opinion, an adorable one.
That part of the figure visible above the table was alluring, and he
knew without seeing them that her legs would be marvelous. It turned
out that they were. When she observed his stare she looked demurely
down and veiled her eyes with criminally long black lashes, while a
bright blush illuminated her milky cheeks.
Jim Morrison knew by the astonishing behavior of his heart that he had
met the girl of all girls, and the next thing was to find out who she
was. He left his table abruptly and sought the hotel clerk.
"You mean the Señorita Goring," smiled the young Spaniard. "She
is--ah--superb! Her father is the American consul."
"What luck," thought Jim. "I'll make his acquaintance, marry her and go
north with her on next week's boat. Tum, tum, te, tum te tum tum."
It was the Mendelssohn wedding march he was humming. He rapidly wrote a
note to the steamship company canceling his passage on the morrow and
returned to the dining room. Sitting with the future Mrs. Morrison was
the very same old dodderer who had wanted to beat him up in the barroom!
So it was the American consul with whom he had picked a fight. Holy
mackerel, what a boner he had pulled! At the moment Mr. Goring looked
up and saw Jim, and scowled fiercely, and then he said something to his
daughter, who proceeded to gaze at Morrison with scorn and loathing.
"Torpedoed," Jim muttered. "James, my boy, you're sunk without a trace
unless you do something, and do it quick. Now or never!"
He rose and walked toward the trio at the consul's table, who gazed at
him in angry astonishment.
"Sir," Jim said, "I don't know who you are, but I wish to tell you
that I am very much ashamed of my exhibition of a few moments ago. I
think it must have been the heat. That drink I had disturbed me. I
just want to say that you were entirely right and I was wrong. There
is no question that the Republican party is the party of Lincoln and
Roosevelt and the only party worthy of ruling the United States of
America. If you made any other statements that I contradicted, due to
my abnormal condition, I wish to tell you that you were correct, and I
am a whippersnapper, just as you said."
Mr. Goring's rather fishy blue eyes regarded him, without change of
expression, his cheeks grew even more purple than they had been. They
were almost as purple now as his nose, and his pendulous underlip
quivered menacingly. He leaned back in his chair and folded his hands
insolently upon his paunch.
"Young man," he said, "your conversion is too sudden to be convincing.
I quarrel with no man about his opinions. I am glad you are aware
that you are a whippersnapper, but I still regard you as a most
objectionable person. And you called me a superannuated ape."
"What?" exclaimed the young woman. "He called you that, father?"
"I was only prevented from chastising him by the interference of
others."
"I withdraw that statement, too, sir. I withdraw everything. I regret I
so far forgot myself as to insult a worthy gentleman. I think it must
have been the heat."
"I cannot accept your apology. Kindly leave us, sir."
"My name is James V. Morrison," he persisted with desperation. "I am
the son of Thomas Morrison of New York."
"I wouldn't care if you were the son of the President of the United
States, sir," said the unmollified old gentleman, "I want nothing to do
with you."
"May I suggest," said the elderly lady, in tones compared to which
vinegar would be sweet, "that you withdraw, young man. You are grossly
intoxicated."
Jim looked imploringly at the girl, whose face was without expression,
then he bowed and slowly left the dining room. He had tried a bold
stroke and lost. However, the girl knew exactly why he had humiliated
himself. It was for her. Perhaps he had piqued her interest.
What an ass he had been. Of course he was irritable because of his
long ride in the appalling heat, but he didn't have to get into a
controversy with the old imbecile. He might have walked out of the
barroom. And it had to be the father of the one girl!
"I'll get her yet," he assured himself, "but it's going to be tough."