CHAPTER XXXVIII.
A PRESIDENT FOR ONE NIGHT.
Hildegarde had intended to rush forward and throw herself into my arms. Poor girl! She had suffered torments during the last two hours, while the uproar continued around the citadel.
At Robbins’ astonishing declaration she stood still and looked at me with startled eyes.
Really, there was cause for surprise; it is not every woman who bids her husband adieu as a plain, everyday American citizen, and welcomes him back two hours later as the president of a bellicose little republic.
“Morgan—is it true?” she gasped.
“I’m afraid I must plead guilty to the indictment. I didn’t dream of accepting the honor, but, you see, they were so very urgent, under the belief that I had been of some little assistance in the capture of the citadel, that I was overwhelmed.”
“Some little assistance? Madam, he is too modest by long odds; why, he carried the whole business by the might of his valor, and made the most gallant charge I ever saw or heard of, barring none—why, the whole city resounds with his praise, and there was no other choice for the presidency after Toreado went down; they demanded it, and public opinion is irresistible here as in the States.”
“Come, Mr. Secretary, you draw it too strongly,” I said, in expostulation; but, all the same, this fervid praise was as balm of Gilead to my soul, for Hildegarde’s face shone with ardent admiration.
Truly, my cup was running over, and the hour of my triumph at hand.
Perhaps I should have remembered that pride usually goes before a fall.
“Oh, Morgan, to think of you a president in a night! I must be dreaming,” she said, from the shelter of my arms, to which she had fled.
“Think how little I expected such a thing a few hours ago when in the alcalde’s old dungeon. Liberty was then the height of my ambition, and I would have laughed any one to scorn had they prophesied such a tremendous push up the ladder of fame. But this is a wonderful country, my dear, and men are made or unmade in an hour. It’s philosophy to take things as they come. Honors are fleeting—some day it will be ex-president with me, and perhaps we’ll be making a bolt for the border.”
I might have said more in this vein, but I saw that it worried her, and no matter what anxieties might loom above the horizon. I felt that I had no right to burden her with them.
Anyhow, she seemed very proud to have a president for a husband; it was an experience few women may enjoy.
Her admiration made me forget what I had endured since we separated; why, all that was an ugly dream, to arise at times like a phantom, conjured to existence by a desire to compare present happiness with past misery, and then allowed to sink back into its grave again.
She insisted on hearing the story of the attack on the citadel, and between us we gave it to her. When Robbins thought I faltered in touching upon my own share in the exploit, he rushed in and described with the tongue of a romancist the tragic events preceding and succeeding the smashing of the door. So that, taking it in all, I rather imagine the little woman received a pretty strong impression of what that affair was like.
She kept squeezing my arm sympathetically all the while, as though she appreciated how vast an amount ofheroic blood it required to do such things in these days of modern destructive engines of war; and when I incidentally mentioned being knocked down by the discharge of the cannon, she threw her arms suddenly about my neck—Jove! I would cheerfully allow myself to be prostrated by such concussion of air again and again if by so doing I could merit so sweet a recompense.
At last it was all told.
The hour had grown very late.
We began to realize how sleepy we were, and I knew I must personally secure some rest if I expected to take up the burden of my official business on the following day.
Then it was I experienced the first qualms of burning regret at having been lured into acceptance; why, only for that I could look forward to sweet idleness, sailing a handsome yacht over the blue waters of the summer seas, and up the grand, historic Nile; whereas now I must assume the burden of governing a nation.
It made me sad.
Still, why should I complain, so long as Hildegarde were content to remain with me and share my lot? Paradise would be where she was.
I ought to be thankful indeed.
Carmencita was so very proud of me she could not seem to take her eyes from my face, and I even felt embarrassed, which showed I had not yet become accustomed to being worshiped as a hero.
There was but a poor chance of securing much comfort on this night in these humble quarters; perhaps, when I had been duly inaugurated, we might have a presidential palace on the order of the alcalde’s big affair, where we could entertain.
Hildegarde was led to a cot where she might snatcha little sleep, covered with a shawl; while I, being an old campaigner, asked for nothing better than a chair.
As for the secretary of war, he promptly declared that since old Bolivar seemed determined to make a night of it, he believed it a part of his new duties to be upon the street, studying the character of the people, and entering into the spirit of the hour.
If ever there was a watchdog, Robbins was one—a jewel beyond compare; and so long as he remained on guard, small reason had I to worry.
I busied myself in seeing that Hildegarde was comfortable, and even insisted upon placing the Mexican shawl over her.
Then I kissed her good-night, and went away to the outer room, where I was to compose myself in a chair as best I could.
Little did I expect to sleep—there were too many wonderful things rioting through my mind to allow of my settling down.
I began to believe that, after all, Dame Fortune, weary of giving me hard knocks, had determined to shower favors in my lap; my recent experience was almost as dazzling as anything from the romantic pages of the “Arabian Nights,” of which I had been so fond as a boy.
Where would it end?
Had I done wisely to accept this new burden?
Would not my lot have been more abundantly blessed with happiness had I put aside ambition and refused the crown, like Cæsar is reported to have thrice done?
Now that the thing had been carried through, I was sorry, and wished to be free—free to go where I willed with my sweet Hildegarde, and leave these regions of plots and counterplots, of uprisings and revolutions, and presidents who were made in an hour.
Would the city of Bolivar ever quiet down again, I wondered.
It was just as noisy as before, and to all appearances the people meant to make a full night of the change in dynasty; revolutions only occur periodically, and must be taken advantage of.
The inhabitants were a queer set.
Would I ever understand them?
When the novelty had worn off, would their old-time prejudices, fanned into a flame by the slypadres, arouse a storm which might threaten to overwhelm me and my mushroom fortunes?
But there was sagacious Robbins to stand between, to swing the army to my side, and quench the rising fires.
Bah! what need of worry, and on the first night too.
All might go well, and a grateful country, yoked to progress, rise up and call me blessed.
At least the thought was pleasant.
So I sat there and conjured up all these fancies, being in the humor to enjoy them. You see, I had never been a president before, never even had the yearning for office, and the experience was so very novel it quite demoralized me.
Other men have worked to that end, have laid wires to gain the office, and pulled them, too, so that when the result was attained they only realized their dreams.
With me it was so sudden.
Sleep? I could not have lost myself had I been offered a premium for so doing.
I remember, distinctly, that three times I arose and tiptoed to the connecting door, to peep into the other room. You see I was a bit skeptical, and wished to assure myself she was there, and that the whole thing was not the fabric of a dream.
Carmencita sat beside her in a chair; the child wassound asleep, and yet the smile on her face told that she dreamed pleasant things.
Troubles are but fleeting things with such young minds; only the present affects them.
The night was wearing on.
I thought of Robbins—and hoped he was enjoying himself after his own fashion out on the streets.
Several times I heard voices without, and once I sat up as a couple of citizens stopped before the door, for I distinctly heard one say in Spanish:
“This is the house—I saw him enter.”
Presently they went on.
No doubt it was only curiosity or hero worship—they wished to know where the new president lodged.
Something made me get up and glance out of the window—the two figures neared the lights by the cathedral, and when I discovered that one of them wore the remarkable hat of apadreI felt a little uneasiness.
That might be the rock on which my ship of state would founder, for no man has as yet been able to successfully antagonize the religious elements in one of these hide-bound republics.
Perhaps half an hour more passed—I could not say exactly, as I had no means of measuring time.
Then I heard quick footsteps that I knew must indicate Robbins’ coming; instinctively I felt there was something wrong, else he would not return in such a hurry.
I stepped over and opened the door just as he arrived outside, and as the light in the room fell on his rugged features I realized that my guess must have been pretty near the truth.
There was something out of joint.
“Well, what is it, Mr. Secretary?” I asked, grimly.
“Nothing much, only old Toreado has refused to stay dead; he has reappeared, is haranguing the boys, denouncingus; you are already a ‘has been,’ and I reckon they’ll soon follow me here demanding tropical vengeance. We must levant, Morgan, my boy.”