THE SPANISH CAVALIER.
The three musicians strolled, then, toward the corner where stood Jim
Morrison and other spectators and, as they passed, he thrust out his
hand and grasped the arm of the tenor.
"Any of you boys speak English?" he demanded.
"_Sí, señor_," said one of the guitarists, "I spik de Engleesh."
"You want to make ten dollars?"
"_Sí, sí, sí, señor!_"
"Then you come with me to the American consulate."
They had to show him the way, for he was hopelessly lost, but in ten
minutes they stood in the deserted street outside the home of Ellen
Goring.
"Now do your stuff," commanded Jim. "I'll show that kid a new wrinkle.
I bet she's never been serenaded before."
The guitars twanged and the tenor opened his mouth and sang even more
passionately than he had for love, a few minutes before. Jim stood
beside them in delight. It mattered not to him that one of the guitar
players was black as coal and the others were mulattoes.
As the man sang people appeared on balconies up and down the street,
but although there were lights in the windows of the consulate, the
serenade had no effect. Ellen, apparently, had no notion that she was
the object of the musical tribute in the street below. Jim waited with
as much patience as he could muster, but after ten minutes he could
stand it no longer.
"Hey, gimme that," he commanded and grasped a guitar from a protesting
player. He did not know how to play a guitar, but the strings would
make a noise if he pulled them. He struck a couple of jangling chords
and in a voice which was loud and very unmusical he began:
"The Spanish Cavalier
Paused in his retreat
And on his guitar
Played a tune, dear.
Say, darling, say
When I'm far away,
Remember my, remember--
Tum, tum te tum, te de tum ta."
[Illustration: _In a loud and unmusical voice Jim began his serenade._]
He had selected that number because they used to sing it in college,
and it seemed appropriate, but he didn't remember the words very well
and the tune only approximately. However, it had an effect. He heard
laughter on the second floor of the consulate and then out on the
balcony popped Ellen, in a white evening dress. Behind her were Mrs.
Goring, the consul, and a man in resplendent green and gold uniform,
a stunning-looking man, who, he knew, could be none other than the
minister of war, his rival. And all four were laughing heartily.
If the ground could have swallowed him up Jim would have been grateful;
but there he stood with his mouth open, a guitar in his hands, and
three colored men as his companions. Ellen looked down and recognized
him, and uttered a wild whoop of mirth.
Mr. Goring peered down and also recognized him.
"Upon my word, Mr. Morrison," he cried angrily, "this is too much.
If you must get intoxicated, why come and exhibit yourself under my
windows--"
"And whoever told you you could sing?" demanded the heartless Ellen.
"May I ask who is this gentleman, and why he is disturbing the peace?"
asked the minister of war, smoothly and maliciously.
"It's that dreadful young man we saw in the hotel," announced Mrs.
Goring shrilly.
"Come on, you boys, let's get out of here," muttered Jim, overwhelmed
with embarrassment.
"Just a minute, please," called Ellen, who disappeared. She returned in
an instant and began to throw down into the street the flowers he had
dropped in the patio that morning. It was too much. Jim led the retreat
at a run, mocking laughter ringing in his ears. And such was the sad
fate of a great idea.
As he fled he was pursued by his hirelings demanding their pay, and he
tossed three ten-dollar bills at them without pausing in his gallop.
Ellen, far from appreciating the thoughtfulness of his attention, had
laughed louder than anybody and had added insult to injury by hurling
his own flowers at him.
And that popinjay of a war minister had wanted to know who was
disturbing the peace. For that Jim vowed he would punch him in the
nose. The brute had invited him to dinner and, when Jim had refused, he
had gone to call on the Gorings and was welcomed by the whole family,
while he, Jim Morrison, who truly loved the girl and wanted to make her
his bride, was compelled to caterwaul outside the window and then get
insulted for his pains.
Well, he would go back to the hotel and drink and drink until he had
drowned the recollection of his humiliation.
* * * * *
An hour later, having consumed half a dozen fiery concoctions without
effacing the recollection of what had happened, he went up to his room
and had begun to prepare for bed when his telephone rang. He regarded
it dubiously. He was in no mood to talk to any one, and it was probably
the obsequious Tillman. It rang again, and he took the receiver from
the hook.
"Hello."
"Mr. Morrison?" said a sweet and thrilling soprano voice. He grasped at
a chair to steady himself.
"Yes," he succeeded in replying.
"It's Miss Goring. I--I want to apologize for being so rude to you.
I was very cruel. I know your attention was well meant, but you were
so"--her voice broke with laughter--"so funny."
"You're an angel. I was a fool, but I hadn't had a drink, Miss Goring.
I'm not a drunkard, honestly."
"I was afraid you felt terribly hurt and I wanted to apologize."
"Sure," he exclaimed joyously. "Can I see you in the morning?"
"Certainly not," she cried angrily. "I might have known you would
misunderstand me!"
"No, no, I don't--" But she had rung off. Why did he always put his
foot in it with her? He had offended her again, and she was so sweet
and kind.
Jim went to bed, but he lay awake some time considering things. Ellen
had proved herself to be the kind of girl he thought she was by phoning
him to apologize for her mockery of his pitiful serenade; she had
proved that she was everything desirable, and he loved her more than
ever, but did he stand any chance with her?
He had glimpsed his rival on the balcony, and the fellow was fiendishly
handsome. The mirror had informed Jim frequently that he belonged to
the rugged school of pulchritude. He was rough and ready, and there was
something about that girl which caused him to behave like an idiot.
Why an American girl should prefer a foreigner to one of her own kind
was something he could not understand, but American girls were always
marrying Frenchmen and Italians and Spaniards, and a girl he knew in
New York had told him that they knew how to pay court to a lady; that
their manners were perfect, they were adepts in doing the things that
pleased a woman.
So far all Jim had done was to infuriate Ellen. Even when she had
apologized on the phone he had been so light-headed as to act as though
she were seeking an excuse to make an engagement with him. She had a
right to be angry. Well, to-morrow night, when he met her at dinner, he
would be on his best behavior and would make her see that he wasn't the
buffoon she must consider him. Full of good resolutions he fell asleep
and he woke up in the morning in the best of spirits and buoyed up by
the importance of this day.
It happened to be one of the hottest days that Rosa Blanca had ever
known, and even the natives complained of the temperature, but Jim's
sufferings were tempered by the knowledge that he would meet Ellen at
dinner in the house of people who were bound to his interest and who
would give him his opportunity.
Dinner was at seven, but Morrison reported at six. He had hoped for a
party of four, but Mrs. Tillman informed him that she could not invite
Ellen without asking her parents, and there would be six at table.
"Whatever did you do last night?" she demanded. "Mrs. Goring is furious
with you, and she called up this morning to break the engagement on
behalf of the family. I had to plead with her not to get my husband
into trouble by preventing us from doing for you the only thing you had
asked us to do, and I guaranteed your good behavior. Mrs. Goring thinks
you have horns and a tail."
"I swear to you," he declared earnestly, "that I'll be a lamb to-night.
I thought it would be a good idea to serenade Miss Goring, but it
didn't turn out to be such a good idea."
"I didn't know what you had done. Mrs. Goring was simply incoherent,"
replied the hostess. "However, the Gorings know how powerful your
father is in this country, and I don't believe they would dare to
refuse to come, actually."
"How powerful is my father?" he demanded. "I've heard that from several
sources, but he never tipped me off. He just sent me down to see his
principal plantation in order to get me out of New York."
"He financed and armed the last revolution and he is keeping President
Garcia in power," she said.
"You don't say! I'll try to get him to fire the minister of war. I
don't like that guy."
She laughed, tapped him playfully on the arm with her fan and went off
to look after dinner arrangements. Tillman took up the story and before
the other guests arrived Jim had learned a lot about the methods of the
fruit company in which, some day, he would be the principal stockholder.
* * * * *
The Gorings arrived at seven o'clock, Mr. Goring looking uncomfortable
in evening clothes, Mrs. Goring starchy and repressing her rancor with
difficulty, and Ellen gorgeous in a frilly, fluffy pink gown with bare
arms and shoulders. There was a look in her brown eyes which made him
uneasy. Mrs. Tillman went through the introductions as though they had
never met before, and Jim thought apologies were in order.
"I'm terribly sorry about that serenade," he said to Mrs. Goring. "It
was just an idea I had, but it wasn't so good." Ellen choked back a
laugh, but he caught her eye, and the hostile look was gone.
"Just a quiet little dinner," cooed Mrs. Tillman. "I wanted you all
to meet Mr. Morrison and he was so distressed about your unfortunate
misunderstanding at your other meeting that he was eager to set himself
right in your eyes."
She gave her arm to Mr. Goring, Tillman took in Mrs. Goring and Jim had
the privilege of leading Ellen, who took his arm demurely.
"Will you forgive me for the exhibition I have been making of myself?"
he demanded.
"Provided you don't give way to any more ideas like the serenade," she
smiled. "You know, Mr. Morrison, I have been thinking you were quite
mad."
"I am--mad about you," he whispered.
They were at table and took the seats indicated by Mrs. Tillman.
The Tillmans did their part by engaging Mr. and Mrs. Goring in
sprightly conversation, and this gave Jim a chance to talk to Ellen.
"Will you give me a chance to see something of you and make you realize
that I'm not the idiot you think?" he asked.
"It depends on how you behave. Do you usually tell a girl you love her
before you have been introduced?"
"I've never been in love before," he assured her. "That's why I don't
know how to behave."
"But you can't want to marry a girl you have only seen once or twice,"
she protested.
"I knew I was a goner when I first set eyes on you in the hotel dining
room. Imagine my embarrassment when I learned that your father was the
old gentleman with whom I had just had an argument."
"I think you are just a spoiled rich man's son," she said severely.
"You have always got exactly what you wanted and you suppose any girl
you deigned to notice would be flattered."
"If I did, I'm all over that," he said ruefully. "Did you really want
me deported?"
She smiled. "I thought the heat had affected you and a cool climate
might cure you."
"You listened yesterday morning when I called on your father?" he
accused.
"I didn't."
"I heard you laugh. You know you were listening."
"Well, I thought your conversation might be amusing. I wanted to see if
father had courage enough to bawl out the son of Tom Morrison."
"He did--and how!" They both laughed.
"Whatever made you think of that preposterous serenade?" she asked in a
more friendly tone than any she had yet used.
Jim told her how he had run across the serenaders. "I only grabbed the
guitar when it looked as if you would never come out on the balcony."
She giggled at the recollection. "Consider my surprise when I heard
the 'Spanish Cavalier' being murdered in English." It was delightfully
funny now and their new understanding emboldened Jim to put his foot in
it again.
"What made me mad was to see that greaser on the balcony. What on earth
do you let one of those spigs come into your house for?" he asked
earnestly.
Ellen stiffened and her reply was muffled fury. "Señor Lopez is as
white as you are and much more of a gentleman. He is a friend of mine
and I resent your statement, Mr. Morrison."
"I beg your pardon," he said contritely, but she punished him by
turning to Mr. Tillman and forcing him to talk to her for the rest of
the dinner.
For representing Morrison's in hot, unhealthy Rosa Blanca, Tillman
received a salary which enabled him to rent a far more comfortable and
attractive residence than the house of the American consul, and the
party left the spacious dining room to take coffee in the large and
blooming patio where a gently splashing fountain seemed to temper the
warmth of the evening and where a faint breeze stirred the leaves of
the little trees and bushes.
In the patio, conversation perforce was general, and after
three-quarters of an hour, on a strong hint from Ellen, the consul, who
was very comfortable, sighed, and said they would have to be going.
"Please, may I come and see you?" whispered Jim. "I'm dreadfully sorry
I offended you again."
"You are the largest child that ever wandered around without a
guardian," she said, showing her dimples. "Yes, only you are on
probation."
His delight was so evident that she softened still more. "You
would really be nice," she informed him, "if you didn't have such
preposterous ideas. Good night, Mr. Morrison. Mary, the dinner was a
joy. Good night, Mr. Tillman."
"I'll never cease to be grateful to you good people," declared Jim when
the guests had gone.
"Did you square yourself?" Tillman asked. "Mrs. Goring was telling me
about your drunken serenade."
"I was absolutely sober, I swear it," he protested, "but I don't
suppose I'll ever make that woman think so. I must love the girl when
I'm willing to take on that pair as in-laws."
Mary laughed deprecatingly. "Mrs. Goring is really a dear," she said,
"only her disposition has been soured by living so many years with Mr.
Goring, who has always been a hard drinker. I think she fancies Carlo
Lopez because he is a teetotaler. He doesn't even drink wine."
"The more I hear about that Spig the less I like him."
"In your own interests, Morrison, and those of your father, soft-pedal
remarks about Spigs in this country," advised Tillman. "Things have
been known to happen to reckless Yankees. Lopez is a pure Castilian."
"Huh, you can't prove by me that Castilians are pure. Thought you said
Lopez got expelled from Harvard for raising Cain?"
"He's reformed," grinned the agent.