What had happened to it, and to the urchin he had left in charge of it? He owed a thousand dollars on its purchase, which he had promised to pay yesterday. Then, too, he had neglected his house account at the University Club, and it was long overdue. That remittance from his father had come just in the nick of time. Suddenly he recalled placing the check in his bill-case, and he searched himself diligently, but found nothing. That reminded him that he had won a bet or two on the football game and the money needed collecting. There was the shooting trip to Cape Cod as well. He was due there to-day for a week-end among the geese and brant. What would Benny Glover think when he failed to show up or even telegraph? Benny's sister was coming down from Boston with some friends and—oh, it was simply imperative that he get some word ashore.
He let his eyes rove over the ship in desperation, then a happy thought came to him.
"The wireless!" he said aloud. "Bonehead! Why didn't you think of that long ago?" A glance at the rigging showed him that the Santa Cruz was equipped with a plant, and a moment later he was hammering at the operator's door.
"I want to send a message right away!" he cried, excitedly; but the "wireless" shook his head with a smile.
"I'm sorry, but—"
"It's important; awfully important. I'll pay you anything!" Kirk rammed a hand mechanically into his empty pocket.
"We're installing a new system," said the operator. "The old apparatus wasn't satisfactory and it's being changed throughout."
"Then you-you can't send a message—possibly?"
"Nothing doing until the next trip."
Kirk strode forward and stared disconsolately down upon the freight deck in a vain endeavor to collect his thoughts. How in the devil had he managed to get into this mess? Could it be one of Higgins's senseless pranks, or was there something deeper, more sinister behind it? He recalled the incidents of that wild night and began to have a disquieting doubt. Did that chance meeting with the chap from St. Louis have anything to do with his presence here, or had he really decided in some foolish, drunken whim to take a trip to Central America? He hardly knew what to think or where to begin his reasoning. He recollected that Jefferson Locke had not impressed him very favorably at the start, and that his behavior upon the appearance of the plain-clothes man had not improved that first impression. It seemed certain that he must have had his hand in this affair, else how would Anthony now find himself in possession of his ticket? What had become of the rightful occupant of Suite A? What had become of Higgins's unfortunate victim with the cracked head? What did it all signify? Kirk sighed disconsolately and gave it up. In five days more he would learn the answer, anyhow, for there must be a cable from Panama to the States. Meanwhile, he supposed he must reconcile himself to his condition. But it was tough to have two weeks of valuable time snatched out of his eventful life. It was maddening.
The sound of a bugle, which Kirk interpreted as an invitation to breakfast, reminded him that he was famished, and he lost no time in going below. Upon his appearance the steward made it plain to him in some subtle manner that the occupant of Suite A needed nothing beyond the mere possession of those magnificent quarters to insure the most considerate treatment. Kirk was placed at the captain's table, where his hunger was soon appeased, and his outlook grew more cheerful with the complete restoration of bodily comfort. Feeling somewhat less dissatisfied with his surroundings, he began to study the faces of his fellow-passengers.
"Getting your sea legs, Mr. Locke?" inquired the man at his right.
"My name is Anthony."
"I beg your pardon! The passenger list said—"
"That was a mistake."
"My name is Stein. May I ask where you are bound for?"
"I think the place is Panama."
"Going to work on the canal?"
"What canal? Oh, of course! Now I remember hearing something about aPanama Canal. Is that where it is?"
"That's the place," Stein replied, dryly.
"I'm not going to work. I don't work—don't know how."
"I see. Pleasure trip?"
"Purely a pleasure trip. I'm having a great time. By-the-way, this canal affair is something new, isn't it?"
"It was begun about thirty years ago." Mr. Stein regarded the speaker with puzzled inquiry, as if undecided in what spirit to take him.
"What's the idea? Why don't they finish it up?"
"I thought you were an American," returned the other, politely. "You have no accent."
"I am an American. I'm the fellow who was born in Albany, New York. If you look on the map you'll find the town has a little ring around it."
"And really don't you know anything about the Panama Canal?"
"Oh, I've heard it mentioned."
"Well, you won't hear anything else mentioned down here; it's the one and only subject of conversation. Nobody thinks or talks or dreams about anything except the canal. Everybody works on it or else works for somebody who does. For instance, that white-haired man at the other end of the table is Colonel Bland, one of the commissioners. The man over there with the black beard is one of the engineers at Gatun."
Stein, who seemed a gossipy person, ran on glibly for a time, pointing out the passengers of note and giving brief details about them. Suddenly he laid his hand on Anthony's arm, and said:
"See this fellow coming down the stairs?" Anthony beheld a slender, bald-headed man of youthful appearance. "That is Stephen Cortlandt. You've heard of the Cortlandts?"
"Sure! One of them pitched for the Cubs."
"I mean the Cortlandts of Washington. They're swell people, society folks and all that—" He broke off to bow effusively to the late comer, who seated himself opposite; then he introduced Kirk.
Mr. Cortlandt impressed Anthony as a cold-blooded, highly schooled person, absolutely devoid of sentiment. His face was stony, his eyes were cool, even his linen partook of his own unruffled calm. He seemed by no means effeminate, yet he was one of those immaculate beings upon whom one can scarcely imagine a speck of dust or a bead of perspiration. His hair—what was left of it—was parted to a nicety, his clothes were faultless, and he had an air of quiet assurance.
"By-the-way, we're getting up a pool on the ship's run," Stein told his new acquaintance. "Would you like to join?"
"Yes, indeed. I'm for anything in the line of chance."
"Very well. I'll see you in the smoking-room later. It will cost you only five dollars."
Kirk suddenly recalled his financial condition and hastened to say, a trifle lamely:
"Come to think about it, I believe I'll stay out. I never gamble." Chancing to glance up at the moment, he found Mr. Cortlandt's eyes fixed upon him with a peculiarly amused look, and a few minutes later he followed Mr. Stein to the deck above.
Once in his own stateroom, the young man began a thorough exploration, realizing more keenly than before that without baggage or money his plight might prove distressing. But, look as he would, he could find no trace of either, and an inadvertent glance in the mirror betrayed the further fact that his linen was long since past a presentable stage. Another despairing search showed that even his watch was gone and that his only asset, evidently overlooked by the hilarious Higgins and his co-partner in crime, was a modest three-stone finger ring. He was regarding this speculatively when the purser knocked, then entered at his call.
"I've just heard that there's a mistake about your ticket," the new-comer began. "It is made out to 'Mr. Jefferson Locke,' but the doctor says you insist your name is something else."
"That's right. My name is Anthony."
"Then how did I get this ticket?"
"I'm sure I don't know."
"Have you any baggage?"
"I don't know."
"What is your destination?"
"I don't know. You'll pardon my limited vocabulary?"
"Are you joking?"
"Do I look as if I were?"
"But I don't understand."
"Neither do I. But I must have some luggage—a fellow wouldn't make a trip like this without baggage, would he?"
"I should think not. I'll look it up for you if you wish. But about this ticket—"
"My dear man, don't bother me with that. I have worries enough as it is. What I want now is a clean shirt and collar."
"Yes, but this ticket says—"
"Please! Look at my linen. I'll create a scandal this way."
"Mr. Locke—"
"Anthony."
"Very well, Mr. Anthony. I must straighten out this ticket affair.Really, I must."
"All right, straighten away."
"If you are not Mr. Locke, it is no good."
"Hurrah! Put me off."
"You don't understand—the ticket is good, but—See here, there's something mighty strange about this. You say your name isn't Locke, you have no baggage, you even thought this ship was a hotel—"
"I did. It was a great disappointment. And now I want a shirt." Anthony began to laugh. "Funny, isn't it?"
"You will have to buy another ticket," said the purser, with dignity.
"A bright idea!" Kirk smiled grimly; then, turning his pockets wrong side out, continued lightly: "You look me over and if you can find the price of a ticket I'll give you half."
"Then you have lost your money as well as your baggage and your identity?"
"So it would seem."
"Impossible!"
It was plain that the officer was growing angry, so Kirk made haste to say:
"Now let's be friends, at least. By-the-way—pardon the personal nature of the question—but—what size shirt do you wear?"
"Seventeen."
"Saved! Let me have about six, will you?"
"Certainly NOT," returned the other. "I need all I have."
"Miser! Then you must help me find some one my size."
The purser, however, seemed in no mood to go shirt-hunting, and backed out of the door, saying: "I'll have a look for your baggage, Mr.—Anthony, and I'll see the captain about this ticket, also. I don't know whether you're making fun of me or not, but—I'll look you up later."
He departed, shaking his head as if this were a form of insanity he had never before encountered. A moment later Kirk followed him and made a round of the deck, staring at each man he met and mentally estimating the girth of his neck; but it seemed that the male passengers of the Santa Cruz were all of medium size, and he saw no one whose appearance held out the slightest hope. He did observe one fellow whose neck seemed as large as his own, but the man looked surly and not too cleanly, and Kirk was not yet desperate enough to bring himself to the point of approaching such a fellow for such a favor. He thought of appealing directly to the captain, but promptly remembered that he was a small, wiry man whose wardrobe could by no possible chance afford him relief. At last he made his way toward the smoking-room, determined to enlist the help of his new acquaintance, Stein.
Midway aft, he paused. A girl had emerged from the deck-house ahead of him, whose appearance was sufficiently striking to divert him, momentarily at least, from his quest. She was well above the usual height, quite slender, yet of an exquisite rounded fulness, while her snug-fitting tailor-made gown showed the marks of a Redfern or a Paquin. He noted, also, that her stride was springy and athletic and her head well carried. Feeling that friendly approval with which one recognizes a member of his own kind, Kirk let his eyes follow her, then retraced his way around the deck in the hope of meeting her face to face.
A woman frequently betrays her beauty by the poise of her head, by the turn of her neck, or the lines of her figure, just as truly as by a full glimpse of her features. Hence it was that Anthony felt a certain pleasurable expectancy as he crossed in front of the deck-house, realizing that she was approaching. But when they had met and passed he went his way vaguely disappointed. Instead of a girl, as the first sight of her youthful figure had led him to expect, he had seen a woman of perhaps forty. There was little in her countenance to reveal her age except a certain settled look that does not go with girlhood, and, while no one could have thought her plain, she was certainly not so handsome as he had imagined from a distance. Yet the face was attractive. The eyes were wide-set, gray, and very clear, the mouth large enough to be expressive. Her hair shone in the morning sun with a delicate bronze lustre like that of a turkey's wing. It did not add to the young man's comfort to realize that her one straight, casual glance in passing had taken him in from his soiled collar to his somewhat extreme patent leathers with the tan tops and pearl buttons.
Being very young himself and of limited social experience, he classed all women as either young or old—there was no middle ground. So he dismissed her from his thoughts and continued his search for a number seventeen shirt, and collar to match. But he did not fare well. He found Mr. Stein in the smoking-room, but discovered that his size was fifteen and a half; and there was no one else to whom he could apply.
For a second time Stein importuned him to buy a chance on the ship's run, and, failing in this, suggested that they have a drink together. Had not Kirk realized in time his inability to reciprocate he would have accepted eagerly, for his recent dissipation had left him curiously weak and nervous. At the cost of an effort, however, he refused. It was a rare experience for him to refuse anything, being, like many indolent youths, an accomplished guest. In fact, he was usually as ready to accept favors as he was carelessly generous when he happened to be in funds. The technique of receiving comes to some people naturally; others cannot assume an obligation without giving offence. Kirk was one of the former. Yet now he felt a sudden, strange hesitancy and a self-consciousness that made graceful acquiescence impossible. He continued firm, therefore, even when Stein gibed at him good-humoredly:
"I suppose it's against your principles to drink, as well as to gamble?"
"Exactly."
"That's good, after the way you came aboard."
"How did I come aboard?"
"Oh, I didn't see you, but I heard about it."
Kirk flushed uncomfortably, muttering: "The acoustics of this ship are great. A man can't fall asleep but what somebody hears it."
Stein laughed: "Don't get sore; all ships are alike—we have to talk about something. Sorry I can't help you with the shirt question. Deuced careless of them to lose your luggage."
"Yes! It makes one feel about as comfortable as a man with a broken arm and the prickly heat. Something's got to be done about it, that's all." He glared enviously at the well-dressed men about the room.
Over in a corner, propped against the leather upholstery, was Mr. Cortlandt, as pale, as reserved, and as saturnine as at breakfast. He was sipping Scotch-and-soda, and in all the time that Anthony remained he did not speak to a soul save the waiter, did not shift his position save to beckon for another drink. Something about his sour, introspective aloofness displeased the onlooker, who shortly returned to the deck.
The day was warming up, and on the sunny side of the ship the steamer chairs were filling. Two old men were casting quoits; a noisy quartette was playing shuffle-board. After idling back and forth for a time, Kirk selected a chair and stretched himself out; but he was scarcely seated before the deck steward approached him and said:
"Do you wish this chair for the voyage, sir?"
"Yes, I think so."
"I'll put your name on it."
"Anthony, Suite A, third floor, front."
"Very well, sir." The man wrote out a card and fitted it to the back of the chair, saying, "One dollar, if you please."
"What?"
"The price of the chair is one dollar."
"I haven't got a dollar."
The steward laughed as if to humor his passenger. "I'm afraid then you can't have the chair."
"So I must stand up all the way to Panama, eh?"
"You are joking, sir. I'll have to pay it myself, if you don't."
"That's right—make me as uncomfortable as possible. By-the-way, what size collar do you wear?"
"Sixteen."
Kirk sighed. "Send the purser to me, will you? I'll fix up the chair matter with him."
While he was talking he heard the rustle of skirts close by and saw the woman he had met earlier seating herself next to him. With her was a French maid bearing a rug in her hands. It annoyed the young man to realize that out of all the chairs on deck he had selected the one nearest hers, and he would have changed his position had he not been too indolent. As it was, he lay idly listening to her words of direction to the maid; but as she spoke in French, he was undecided whether she was telling her companion that bad weather was imminent, or that the laundry needed counting—his mind, it seemed, ran to laundry.
Then the purser appeared. "Did you send for me?" he inquired.
"Yes. There was a strange man around just now, and he wanted a dollar for this chair."
"Well?"
"I want to establish a line of credit."
The purser grunted.
"And say!" Kirk ran on, seriously. "I've been all over your little ship, but the passengers are boys' size. I can't wear this collar any longer."
"And I can't find any baggage of yours."
"Then there isn't any. I never really expected there was. Come now, be a good fellow. This is my 'case shirt."
"If you really wish some clothes, I'll see what I can find among the stewards."
"No, no," Kirk hastily interposed, "I can't wear a shirt with soup stains on it. Let me have one of yours—we're twin brothers."
"I have no more than I need," said the purser, coldly. He opened a cigarette case, at which Anthony gazed longingly. It seemed ages since he had had a smoke; but the other seemed disinclined for small courtesies.
"I've seen the captain about that ticket matter," he went on, "and he says you must buy another."
Kirk shook his head languidly. "Once more I tell you there is nothing doing."
The officer broke out with some heat: "If you are joking, you've carried this thing far enough. If you are really strapped, as you say you are, how does it happen that you are occupying the best suite on the ship?"
"It is a long story."
"Humph! You will have to give up those quarters and go forward."
"Why? You have your money for that ticket?"
"Yes, but you're not Mr. Locke."
Kirk smiled meditatively. "How do you know?" he queried.
"Good heavens! You've told me so a dozen—"
"Ah! Then you have nothing except my word. Well, sir, now that I come to think it over, I believe my name is Locke, after all." He grinned. "Anyhow, I love my little room and I think I'll keep it. Please don't be peevish. I want you to do me a favor." He removed the ring from his finger, and, handing it to the Purser, said "I want you to get me two diamonds' and a ruby's worth of shirts and collars; and also a safety razor. My mind has stopped working, but my whiskers continue to grow."
The officer managed to say with dignity: "You wish to raise money on this, I presume? Very well, I'll see what can be done for you, Mr. Locke." As he turned away, Kirk became conscious that the woman in the next chair had let her book fall and was watching him with amused curiosity. Feeling a sudden desire to confide in some one, he turned his eyes upon her with such a natural, boyish smile that she could not take offence, and began quite as if he had known her for some time:
"These people are money-mad, aren't they? Worst bunch of gold-diggers I ever saw." Surprised, she half raised her book, but Kirk ran on: "Anybody would think I was trying to find a missing will instead of a shirt. That purser is the only man on the ship my size, and he distrusts me."
The woman murmured something unintelligible. "I hope you don't mind my speaking to you," he added. "I'm awfully lonesome. My name is Anthony, Kirk Anthony."
Evidently the occupant of the next chair was not a football enthusiast, for, although she bowed her acknowledgment, her face showed that the name carried no significance.
"I understood you to tell the purser your name was Locke," said she, in a very low-pitched, well-modulated voice. "I couldn't help overhearing."
"But it isn't really, it's Anthony. I'm the undignified heir to the stocks and bonds of an old party by that name who lives in Albany."
"Darwin K. Anthony?" questioned she, quickly. "Is he your father?" Her face lighted with a flash of genuine interest.
Kirk nodded. "He's my prodigal father and I'm the fatted son. Do you know the governor?"
"Yes, slightly."
"Well, what do you think of that? He's a great old party, isn't he?" He chuckled irrepressibly. "Did you ever hear him swear?"
The woman shook her head with a smile. "I hardly know him well enough for that."
"Oh, he's a free performer; he swears naturally; can't help it.Everybody knows he doesn't mean anything. It's funny, isn't it, withall his credit, that I can't get a shirt until I put up a diamond ring?He could buy a railroad with half that security."
"You are joking, are you not?"
"No indeed. I never needed a shirt so badly in my life. You see, I didn't intend to take this trip; I didn't even know I had sailed. When I woke up I thought this was a hotel. I've got no more baggage than a robin."
"Really?" The woman by now had closed her book and was giving him her full attention, responding to some respectful quality in his tone that robbed his frankness of offence. "How did it happen?"
"Well, to be perfectly honest, I got drunk—just plain drunk. I didn't think so at the time, understand, for I'd never been the least bit that way before. Hope I don't shock you?"
His new acquaintance shrugged her shoulders. "I have seen something of the world; I'm not easily shocked."
"Well, I was perfectly sober the last I remember, and then I woke up on the Santa Cruz. I'd never even heard the name before."
"And hadn't you intended taking an ocean trip?"
"Good Lord, no! I had just bought a new French car and was going to drive it up to New Haven yesterday. It's standing out on Forty-fifth Street now, if somebody hasn't stolen it. Gee! I can see the news-boys cutting their monograms in those tires."
"How remarkable!"
"You see, it was a big night—football game, supper, and all that. I remember everything up to a certain point, then—curtain! I was 'out' for twelve hours, and SICK!—that's the funny part; I'm still sick." He shook his head as if at a loss what to make of this phenomenon. He noted how the woman's countenance lighted at even a passing interest, as he continued: "What I can't understand is this: It took all my money to pay for the supper, and yet I wake up with a first-class ticket to Panama and in possession of one of the best suites on the ship. It's a problem play."
"You say you were sick afterward?"
"WAS I?" Kirk turned his eyes upon the speaker, mournfully. "My head isn't right yet."
"You were drugged," said the woman.
"By Jove!" He straightened up in his chair. "Knockouts!"
"Exactly. Some one drugged you and bought a ticket—"
"Wait! I'm beginning to see. It was Locke. That's how I got his name. This is his ticket. Oh! There's going to be something doing when I get back."
"What?"
"I don't know yet, but I'm going to sit right here and brood upon some fitting revenge. After that chap gets out of the hospital—"
"You did not impress me as a college student," said the stranger.
"I'm not. I graduated four years ago. I barely made it, but I did get through."
"And you have never been to the tropics?"
"Not since I had my last row with the governor. Have you?"
"Many times. It will prove an interesting trip for you. At least you have that consolation."
"What is it like?"
Evidently the artless effrontery of the young man had not offended, for his neighbor talked freely, and in a short time the two were conversing as easily as old acquaintances. This was due, perhaps, to the fact that he had appealed to her with the same frankness he would have used toward a man and, thus far at least, had quite ignored her sex. She was sufficiently quick to appreciate the footing thus established, and allowed herself to meet him half-way. Had he presumed in the slightest, she would have chilled him instantly; but, as it was, she seemed to feel the innate courtesy back of his boldness, seeing in him only a big, unaffected boy who needed an outlet for his feelings. In the same way, had a fine St. Bernard dog thrust a friendly head beneath her hand she would have petted it.
When at last she rose, after an hour that had swiftly sped, she was gratified at the look of concern that came into his eyes. She looked at him with genuine approval as he bowed and said:
"Thank you for the pointers about Panama. I hope I may have the pleasure of talking to you again."
When she had disappeared he murmured, admiringly:
"Jove! She's a corker! And she's not so old, after all. I wonder who she—" He leaned over and read the card on the back of her steamer chair. "Mrs. Stephen Cortlandt, Suite B," it was lettered. Straightening up, he grumbled with genuine disappointment: "Just my blamed luck! She's MARRIED."
By pledging his one article of jewelry Kirk became possessed that afternoon of several shirts, collars, and handkerchiefs—likewise a razor, over which he exercised a sort of leasehold privilege. The purser made it plain, however, that he had not sold these articles, but merely loaned them, holding the ring as security for their return, and this arrangement allowed Kirk no spare cash whatever. Even with all his necessities paid for, it surprised him to find how many channels remained for spending money. For instance, the most agreeable loafing spot on the ship was the smoking-room, but whenever he entered it he was invited to drink, smoke, or play cards, and as he was fond of all these diversions, it required such an effort of will to refuse that it destroyed all the pleasure of good company. It was very hard always to be saying no; and in addition it excited his disgust to learn that he had inadvertently founded a reputation for abstemiousness.
Before long he discovered that the passengers considered him an exceptionally sober, steady youth of economical habits, and this enraged him beyond measure. Every tinkle of ice or hiss of seltzer made his mouth water, the click of poker chips drew him with magnetic power. He longed mightily to "break over" and have a good time. It was his first effort at self-restraint, and the warfare became so intense that he finally gave up the smoking-room almost entirely, and spent his hours on deck, away from temptation. He suffered most, perhaps, from the lack of tobacco, but even in the matter of cigarettes he could not bring himself to accept favors that he could not return. In the solitude of his richly appointed suite he collected a few cork-bound stumps, which he impaled on a toothpick in order to light them.
Meanwhile he amused himself by baiting the purser. He dogged that serious-minded gentleman through all his waking hours, finding a rare delight in playing upon his suspicion and lack of humor. To him Kirk was always Mr. Locke, while he insisted upon being called Mr. Anthony by the others, and the officer never quite got the hang of it. Moreover, the latter was full of dignity, and did not relish being connected with a certainly dubious and possibly criminal character, yet dared not resort to rudeness as a means of riddance.
The situation was trying enough to the young man at best; for the ship's hirelings began to show a lack of interest in his comfort, once it became known that he did not tip, and he experienced difficulty in obtaining even the customary attentions. It was annoying to one who had never known an unsatisfied whim; but Kirk was of a peculiarly sanguine temperament that required much to ruffle, and looked upon the whole matter as a huge joke. It was this, perhaps, that enabled him to make friends in spite of his unsociable habits, for the men liked him. As for the women, he avoided them religiously, with the exception of Mrs. Cortlandt, whom he saw for an hour or two, morning and afternoon, as well as at meal-times. With her he got on famously, finding her nearly as entertaining as a male chum, though he never quite lost his dislike for her husband. Had she been unmarried and nearer his own age, their daily intimacy might have caused him to become self-conscious, but, under the circumstances, no such thought occurred to him, and he began to look forward with pleasure to their hours on deck.
The Santa Cruz was four days out before Cortlandt joined them, and when he did he merely nodded casually to Kirk, then, after exchanging a polite word or two with his wife, lapsed into his customary silence, while Mrs. Cortlandt continued her conversation without a second glance in her husband's direction.
"That's what I call an ideal married couple," Kirk reflected—"complete understanding, absolute confidence." And the more he saw of them, the stronger this impression grew. Cortlandt was always attentive and courteous, without being demonstrative, while his wife showed a charming graciousness that was plainly unassumed. Their perfect good-breeding made the young man feel at ease; but though he endeavored to cultivate the husband on several occasions, he made little headway. The man evidently possessed a wide knowledge of current events, a keen understanding of men and things, yet he never opened up. He listened, smiled, spoke rarely, and continued to spend nine-tenths of his time in that isolated corner of the smoking-room, with no other company than a long glass and a siphon.
One day when Kirk had begun to feel that his acquaintance with Mrs.Cortlandt was well established, he said to her:
"Stein told me to-day that your husband is in the diplomatic service."
"Yes," said she. "He was Consul-General to Colombia several years ago, and since then he has been to France and to Germany."
"I thought you were tourists—you have travelled so much."
"Most of our journeys have been made at the expense of the Government."
"Are you diplomatting now?"
"In a way. We shall be in Panama for some time."
"This Stein seems to be a nice fellow. He's taken quite a liking to me."
Mrs. Cortlandt laughed lightly. "That is part of his business."
"How so?"
"He is one of Colonel Jolson's secret agents."
"Who is Colonel Jolson?"
"Chairman of the Isthmian Canal Commission. Your father knows him."
"Do you mean that Stein is a—detective?" Kirk looked uncomfortable.
"I do! Does he know you are the son of Darwin K. Anthony?"
"Why, yes, I suppose so."
"Colonel Jolson will be interested."
"Again I don't see the point."
"Your father is one of the most powerful and aggressive railroad men in the country. Perhaps you know something about the railroad opposition to the canal?"
Kirk smiled. "Well, to tell you the truth," said he, "the governor doesn't consult me about his business as much as he ought to. He seems to think he can run it all right without me, and we've only been speaking over the telephone lately."
"One of the strongest forces the Government had to combat in putting through the canal appropriations was the railroads. Colonel Jolson has no reason to love your father."
"Yes, butIdon't object to this canal. I think it must be a rather good idea."
Mrs. Cortlandt laughed for a second time. "The Colonel's dislike for your father will not affect you, inasmuch as you are returning so soon, but if you intended to stay it might be different."
"In what way?"
"Oh, in many ways. There are two classes of people who are not welcomed on the Canal Zone—magazine writers and applicants for positions who have political influence back of them. The former are regarded as muckrakers, the latter as spies."
"That's rather rough on them, isn't it?"
"You must understand that there is a great big human machine behind the digging of this canal, and, while it is more wonderful by far than the actual machinery of iron and steel, it is subject to human weaknesses. Men like Colonel Jolson, who form a part of it, are down here to make reputations for themselves. They are handicapped and vexed by constant interference, constant jealousy. It is a survival of the fittest, and I suppose they feel that they must protect themselves even if they use underhand means to do so. It is so in all big work of this character, where the individual is made small. You would find the same condition in your father's railroad organization."
"Oh, now! My old man is a pretty tough citizen to get along with, but he wouldn't hire detectives to spy on his employees."
Mrs. Cortlandt smiled. "By-the-way, when are you going into business with him?" she said.
"I? Oh, not for a long time. You see, I'm so busy I never seem to have time to work. Work doesn't really appeal to me, anyway. I suppose if I had to hustle I could, but—what's the use?"
"What is it that keeps you so busy? What are you going to do when you get back, for instance?"
"Well, I'm going to Ormond for the auto races, and I may enter my new car. If I don't get hurt in the races I'll take a hunting trip or two. Then I want to try out an iceboat on the Hudson, and I'll have to be back in New Haven by the time the baseball squad limbers up. Oh, I have plenty of work ahead!"
Mrs. Cortlandt let her eyes dwell upon him curiously for a moment; then she said:
"Have you no ambition?"
"Certainly."
"What is it?"
"Why—" Kirk hesitated. "I can't say right off the reel, but I've got it—lots of it."
"Is there no—girl, for instance? Have you never been in love?"
"Oh, see here, now!" Anthony blushed in a manner to excite the envy of any woman. "I don't like 'em. I'd rather play football."
"That explains something. When the time comes you will cease wasting your life and—"
"I'm NOT wasting my life," the young man denied hotly. "I'm having a great time; simply immense."
"I remember reading an article once by a man who attacked American colleges with bitter personal feeling, on the ground that they fostered exactly the attitude toward life which you have just expressed."
Anthony looked sober. "That was my father," he said.
"Really! How stupid of me to forget the name. But I don't agree with him," she continued, gently. "You merely lack stimulus. If you should meet the right woman—" Then, seeing the amusement in his face; "Believe me, I know what I am talking about. I know what a woman can do. Your life has been too easy and placid. You need some disturbing element to make it ferment."
"But I don't want to ferment."
"Why don't you stay in Panama and go to work?"
"Work? Hideous word! For one thing, I haven't time. I must get back—"
"You will find great opportunities there."
"But how about the girl who is to sour the syrup of my being and make it ferment?"
"Oh, she may appear at any moment; but, joking aside, you had better think over what I have said." She left him with an admonitory shake of her head.
The SANTA CRUZ was now rapidly drawing out of the cold northern winter and into a tropic warmth. Already the raw chill of higher latitudes was giving way to a balmy, spring-like temperature, while the glittering sunshine transformed the sea into a lively, gleaming expanse of sapphire. The nights were perfect, the days divine. The passengers responded as if to a magic draught, and Kirk found his blood filled with a new vigor.
A brief sight of Columbus' Landfall served to break the monotony; then followed a swift flight past low, tropical islands ringed with coral sand, upon which broke a lazy, milk-white surf. Through the glasses villages were spied, backed by palm groves and guarded by tall sentinel lighthouses; but the Santa Cruz pushed steadily southward, her decks as level as a dancing floor, the melancholy voice of her bell tolling the leagues as they slipped past. The eastern tongue of Cuba rose out of the horizon, then dropped astern, and the gentle trades began to fan the travellers. Now that they were in the Caribbean, schools of flying fish whisked out from under the ship's prow, and away, like tiny silver-sheathed arrows. New constellations rose into the evening sky. It became impossible to rest indoors, with the trade-winds calling, and the passengers spent long, lazy hours basking in the breath of the tropics and grudging the pleasure of which sleep deprived them.
It was the last night of the voyage, and the thrill of approaching land was felt by all. As usual, the monotony of the first day or two had given way to an idle contentment and a vague regret at leaving the ship and severing the ties so newly made. Home, instead of looming close and overshadowing, had become a memory rather indistinct and blurred, clouded by the proximity of the new and unknown.
Kirk Anthony acknowledged to a reluctant enjoyment of the change and found himself less eager to go back. As he paced the deck after dinner he felt a lurking desire to defer his return until he had absorbed something more of this warmth and languor; he even reflected that he might welcome a stay of some length in the tropics if it were not for the fact that he had so much to do.
Mrs. Cortlandt joined him as usual, and they did a mile around the promenade, chatting idly of many things. The evening was too glorious to permit of early retiring, and a late hour found them leaning over the rail, side by side, while Anthony bewailed the fact that he knew nothing of the country just beyond the dark horizon ahead of them.
"You are quite right," his companion agreed. "You will miss its best flavor if you don't know the history back of it. For instance, we are now on the Spanish Main, the traditional home of romance and adventure."
"I always wanted to be a pirate," he acknowledged gravely, "up to fifteen. Then I thought I'd rather run a candy store."
"The ships of Sir Henry Morgan and the galleons of His Catholic Majesty Philip of Spain sailed these waters. Over yonder"—she waved a graceful hand to the north and east—"are the haunts where the adventurers of old England used to lie in wait for their prey. Ahead of us is the land that Pizarro soaked with blood. We're coming into the oldest country on this side of the globe, Mr. Anthony, where men lived in peace and plenty when most of Europe was a wilderness. I suppose such things appeal more to a woman's fancy than to a man's, but to me they're mightily alluring."
Kirk wagged his head admiringly, as he said:
"I wish I could make language behave like that," and Edith Cortlandt laughed like a young girl.
"Oh, I'm not a perfervid poet," she disclaimed, "but everything down here is so full of association I can't help feeling it."
"I'm beginning to notice it myself. Maybe it's the climate."
"Perhaps. Anyhow, it is all very vivid to me. Did you ever stop to think how brave those men must have been who first went venturing into unknown seas in their little wooden boats?"
"They were looking for a short cut to the East Indies, weren't they?"
"Yes, to Cathay. And then the people they found and conquered! The spoils they exacted! They were men—those conquistadores—whatever else they were—big, cruel, heroic fellows like Bastida, Nicuesa, Balboa, Pedrarias the Assassin, and the rest. They oppressed the natives terribly, yet they paved the way for civilization, after all. The Spaniards did try to uplift the Indians, you know. And the life in the colonies was like that in old Spain, only more romantic and picturesque. Why, whenever I pass through these Latin-American cities I see, in place of the crumbling ruins, grand cathedrals and palaces; in place of the squalid beggars idling about the market-places I see velvet-clad dons and high-born ladies."
"Aren't there any beautiful ladies left?"
"A few, perhaps."
"What happened to the cathedrals and the velvet fellows and all that?"
"Oh, the old state of affairs couldn't last forever. The Spanish administration wasn't so bad as is generally supposed, yet of course there was too much rapacity and not enough industry. Central America, broadly speaking, was known as the treasure-chest of the world, and there were constant wars and disturbances. The colonies as a whole did not progress like those in the North, and in course of time deteriorated. The old cathedrals decayed and were not rebuilt. The old Spanish stock died out and in its stead grew up a motley race given to revolt, revolution, and corruption. Even when the provinces became free, they weren't able to unite and form a strong nation. The Isthmus of Panama became a pest-hole where the scum of the Four Seas settled. The people became mean and unhealthy in mind and body and morals, preserving nothing except the cruelty of their forefathers. Here and there, to be sure, one comes across the old Castilian breed, like a silver thread running through a rotting altar-cloth, but only here and there, and most of those silver threads have become tarnished from contact with the fabric."
"It must be a nice place," Kirk observed with gentle sarcasm.
"It affords one a great chance to moralize, at any rate. Take the building of this canal, for instance. First, the French came, led by a dreamer, and poured in the wealth of an empire in order that they might exact toll from the world. You see, they were all lured by the love of gain—the Spaniards, who pillaged the natives to begin with, and the French, who set out to squeeze profit from all the other nations. But it seems as if the spot were infected. The French lost an army in their project; corruption gnawed through, and the thing ended in disgrace and disaster. Spain and France have come and gone, and at last we Yankees have arrived. It seems to be the will of God that the youngest, lustiest people on the earth should finally be sent to clean this Augean stable."
"By Jove! I never thought of it that way."
"It is a big task, Mr. Anthony, and the mere digging of the ditch is the smallest part. There is a great deal more to be done. You see, as men attain culture, they require more than mere food and drink and bedding, and in the same way, as nations attain to greatness, they require more than mere territory—they reach out and absorb power and prestige. Our decision to build the Panama Canal is like the landing of another Columbus; the conquest is to follow. After that will come—who knows what? Perhaps more wars, more pillage, more injustice."
"You talk like a man," Anthony said, admiringly. "I had no idea you looked at things in such a big way."
"You are laughing at me."
"No, indeed."
"You see, it is part of my husband's profession. As to the romance—well, all women are romantic and imaginative, I suppose, and you've been an inspiring listener."
"I don't know about that, but—you're a corking good talker. Excuse my archaic English." Mrs. Cortlandt turned her eyes upon the speaker, and he saw that they were very bright. "I've been thinking about what you told me the other day," he ran on, "about myself. Remember?"
"I'm glad I have the knack of making something besides football signals stick in your memory," said she. "Have you been thinking about that girl I spoke of?"
"Yes," he replied, ingenuously. "I've been making up my mind to ask you if you happen to have a sister—an unmarried sister, I mean."
Mrs. Cortlandt laughed appreciatively. "No, I have no sister, but I thank you for the compliment. I suppose you meant it for one?"
"Yes. I hope you don't mind."
"Not at all. I'm quite sure now that my notion about you was right. It will take a woman to make a man of you."
"It used to be my wind that troubled me," said the athlete, mournfully."Now it seems to be my heart."
"It doesn't seem to be seriously affected as yet, but it's remarkable the number of ways in which the heart of man may be reached. I remember once having breakfast in a queer little restaurant in the French quarter of New Orleans, famous for its cooking and for the well-known people who had eaten there. There was a sort of register which the guests were asked to sign, and in looking it over I read the inscription of one particularly enthusiastic diner. It ran, 'Oh, Madame Begue, your liver has touched my heart,' and the story is that the writer made desperate love to the proprietor's wife."
"Oh, come, that's rather hard on me. I have some emotions besides a hearty appreciation of food."
"No doubt. I only mentioned that as one of the ways, and, seriously, I am convinced that, however your awakening may come, you will be the better for it."
"I do hope the cook will prove to be unmarried," he mused. "Imagine having to do away with a husband who can handle a cleaver."
"Oh, I don't mean you should necessarily marry the woman. It would be quite as good for you if she refused even to look at you. However, let us hope that you meet some nice American girl—"
"Why not a senorita? You have inspired me with Spanish romance."
But Mrs. Cortlandt shook her head. "Wait until you have seen them."
"Already I imagine myself under some moonlit balcony teasing chords out of a guitar. I have rather a good singing voice, you know."
"It is not done that way nowadays. Panama is Americanized. You will need a pianola and an automobile."
"And all the romance is gone?"
"Oh, there is romance everywhere; there is quite as much in Pittsburg as in Andalusia. But to speak of more practical things"—Mrs. Cortlandt hesitated slightly—"I heard you tell the purser the other day about your financial troubles, and it occurred to me that Mr. Cortlandt might assist you."
"Thanks, awfully," Kirk hastened to say, feeling himself flush uncomfortably. "But I sha'n't need anything. The old gentleman will wire me whatever I ask for. Does Mr. Cortlandt know how I am fixed?"
"No."
"Please don't tell him. I—I'm a little bit ashamed of myself. You're not going?"
"Yes. It is getting late, and my maid is looking for me."
"Oh, I'm sorry. It's lonesome around here without—somebody to talk to." He took her hand and shook it as if she were a man. "You've been mighty good to me and—I wish you had a sister. That's all."
She left him the memory of a very bright and very girlish smile, and he found himself thinking that she could not be so much older than he, after all.
Mr. Cortlandt was awaiting his wife and rose courteously as she entered their suite.
"Did you send Annette for me?" she inquired.
"Yes. I thought you had forgotten the hour. We rise at six."
"My dear," she returned, coolly, "I was quite aware of the time. I was talking to Mr. Anthony."
"Do you find him so amusing?"
"Very much so."
"He's such a boy. By-the-way, some of the passengers are remarking about your friendship for him."
Mrs. Cortlandt shrugged. "I expected that. Does it interest you?"
The man favored her with his wintry smile. "Not at all."
"If he should need assistance while in Panama, I should be obliged if you would accommodate him."
"Money?"
"Yes, or anything else. He left New York unexpectedly."
"Don't you think that is going a bit too far? You know I don't fancy him."
Mrs. Cortlandt frowned slightly. "We won't discuss it," she said. "I assured him he was at liberty to call on us for anything and—naturally that ends the matter."
"Naturally!" he agreed, but his colorless cheeks flushed dully.
When Kirk came on deck early the following morning, he found the Santa Cruz nosing her way into Colony harbor. A land fog obscured his view somewhat, but through it he beheld a low, irregular line of mountains in the background, and close at hand a town. The ship came to anchor abreast of a point upon which he descried a squat little spider-legged lighthouse and long rows of frame dwellings half hidden behind slender palm-trees. Beyond were warehouses and docks and the funnels of many ships; on either side of the bay was a dense tropic wilderness. As the sun dissipated the morning haze, he saw that the hills were matted with a marvellous vivid green. There were no clearings on the slopes, no open spaces dotted with farm-houses or herds, the jungle flowed down to the water's edge in an unbroken sweep, and the town was cut out of it.
A launch came plunging through the swells, and the deck steward made his rounds requesting the passengers to assemble for medical examination.
Kirk found the Cortlandts ahead of him.
"What's coming off?" he inquired.
"Vaccination," Cortlandt explained, briefly. "They are very particular about disease."
His wife added: "This used to be the worst fever-spot in the world, you know. When we were here five years ago, we saw car-loads of dead people nearly every day. A funeral train was a familiar sight."
"What a pleasant place to spend my vacation!" exclaimed Kirk. "Now if I can rent a room over the morgue and board with the village undertaker, I'll have a nice time."
"Oh, there's no more yellow fever—no sickness at all, in fact," saidMr. Cortlandt. "Will you go over to Panama City, or will you stay inColon?"
"I think I'll remain on the ship; then she can't get away without me," Kirk answered. But when, after taking his turn before the doctors, he explained his desire to the purser, that worthy replied:
"I'm sorry, but you'll have to arrange that with the agent. We make a charge, you know, just like a hotel."
"I'm going to cable my old man for money."
The officer shook his head with finality. "Nothing doing, Mr. Locke."
"Anthony."
"I'll take no chances. If you don't pay, I'll have to. Look here! Do you want to know what I think of you, Mr.—Anthony Locke?"
"I haven't any special yearnings in that direction, but—what do you think about me?"
"Well, I don't think your name is either Locke or Anthony."
"Marvellous!"
"And I don't think you have any money coming to you, either."
"Mighty intellect!"
"I think you are no good."
"You're not alone in that belief. But what has all that to do with my sleeping aboard the Santa Cruz?"
"If you want to stay aboard, you'll have to pay in advance. You're not so foolish as you try to make out."
"Those are glorious words of praise," Kirk acknowledged, "but I'll make a bet with you."
"What?"
"That you change your mind. I am just as foolish as I appear, and I'll prove it. I'll bet my ring against your shirts that my name is Anthony, and if I don't come through with the price of a ticket to New York you can keep the ring."
"Very well, but meanwhile I don't intend to be stuck for your bill."The purser was a man of admirable caution.
"All right, then, I shall throw myself upon the mercy of strangers and take your belongings with me."
By this time the ship was being warped into her berth, and the dock was crowded. There were little brown customs inspectors in khaki, little brown policemen in blue, little brown merchants in white, and huge black Jamaicans in all colors of rags. Here and there moved a bronzed, businesslike American, and Anthony noticed that for the most part these were clean-cut, aggressive-looking young fellows.
He was delayed but an instant by the customs officials, then made his way out through a barnlike structure to the street, reflecting that, after all, there are advantages in travelling light. He came into a blazing-hot, glaring white street jammed with all sorts of vehicles, the drivers of which seemed perpetually upon the point of riot. Before him stretched a shadeless brick pavement, with a railroad track on one side, and on the other a line of naked frame buildings hideous in their sameness. The sun beat down fiercely. Kirk mopped his face with the purser's handkerchief and wondered if this were really December.
Clumsy two-wheeled carts came bumping past, some with prehensile-footed negroes perched upon them, others driven by turban-crowned Hindoos. A fleet of dilapidated surreys and coaches, each equipped with a musical chime and drawn by a flea-bitten, ratlike horse, thronged the square. Kirk noticed with amusement that the steeds were of stronger mentality than the drivers, judging from the way they dominated the place, kicking, biting squealing, ramming one another, locking wheels and blocking traffic, the while their futile owners merely jerked the reins after the fashion of a street-car conductor ringing up fares, or swore softly in Spanish. Silent-footed coolies drifted past, sullen-faced negroes jostled him, stately Martinique women stalked through the confusion with queenly dignity. These last were especially qualified to take the stranger's eye, being tall and slender and wearing gaudy head-dresses, the tips of which stood up like rabbits' ears. Unlike the fat and noisy Jamaicans, they were neat and clean, their skirts snow-white and stiffly starched, and they held themselves as proudly erect as if pacing a stage.
The indescribable confusion of races reminded the young American of a Red Sea port where the myriad peoples of the far East intermingle. He heard a dozen different dialects; even the negroes used an accent that was difficult to understand. One thing only struck a familiar note, and that with peculiar force and sharpness. Down the railroad track toward him came a locomotive with the letters "P. R. R." upon it, at which he said aloud:
"Hurrah, I'm in Jersey City! I'll take the Twenty-third Street Ferry and be at the Astor in no time."
He made his way slowly through the turmoil to the cable office, where he wrote a message, only to have it refused.
"We don't send C. O. D.," the operator told him.
"Must have coin in advance, eh?"
"Yes, sir."
"I left my gold-purse on the dresser," Kirk said, cheerfully. "I'll be back later." Then he wandered forth again, bearing his bundle of shirts beneath his arm. He thought of appealing to the Cortlandts before they left for Panama City, but could not bring himself to ask a favor from that slim, agate-eyed man for whom he felt such an instinctive distaste. Instead, he resolved to enlist the services of the American consul.
He began to feel the heat now, and his borrowed collar drooped, but as he neared the seaward side of town there was a remarkable transformation. A delightful, cooling breeze swept in from the ocean, and, when he finally came out upon a palm-guarded road along the breakers, he paused in silent enjoyment. The trade-winds were drawing inward as steadily as if forced by a great electric fan, piling the green waters upon the rocks in a ceaseless, soothing murmur, making the palm fronds overhead rustle like the silken skirts of an aerial ballet. The effect was wonderful, for, while the air was balmy and soft, it was also deliciously refreshing and seemed to have magic properties.
After some further wandering, he found the consul's house and knocked at the door, whereupon a high-pitched, querulous voice from inside cried:
"Come in. Dammit, don't stand there hammering!"
Kirk entered to find a huge, globular man clad in soiled linens sprawled in a musty Morris chair and sipping a highball. The man's face and neck were of a purplish, apoplectic hue; he seemed to radiate heat-waves like a base-burner.
"Is this Mr. Weeks?" Kirk inquired.
"That's me."
"My name is Anthony."
"Glad to meet you," wheezed the fat man, extending a limp, moist hand without rising. When Kirk had grasped it he felt like wiping his own palm. "Have a seat." The speaker indicated a broken-backed rocker encumbered with damp clothes, newspapers, and books. "Just dump that rubbish on the floor; it don't matter where." Then he piped at the top of his thin, little voice, "Zeelah! Hey, Zeelah! Bring some more ice."
One glance showed Anthony that the place was indescribably disordered; a rickety desk was half concealed beneath a litter of papers, books, breakfast dishes, and what not; a typewriter occupied a chair, and all about the floor were scattered documents where the wind had blown them. Shoes and articles of clothing were piled in the corners; there was not a sound piece of furniture in the place, and through an open door leading to another room at the rear could be seen a cheap iron bed, sagging hammock-like, its head and foot posts slanting like tepee poles, doubtless from the weight of its owner.
In answer to Mr. Weeks's shout a slatternly negress with dragging skirts and overrun shoes entered, carrying a washbowl partly filled with ice.
"Just get in, Mr. Anthony?"
"Yes, sir, on the Santa. Cruz."
"Fine ship." Mr. Weeks rose ponderously and wiped out a glass with a bath towel, while Kirk noticed that two damp half-moons had come through his stiffly starched linen trousers where his dripping knees had pressed. He walked with a peculiar, springy roll, as if pads of fat had grown between his joints, and, once an impulse had been given his massive frame, it required time in which to become effective. The sound of his breathing was plainly audible as he prepared his guest's beverage.
"You'll like that," he predicted. "There's one good thing we get in Colon, and that's whiskey." With a palsied hand he presented the glass. His cuffs were limp and tight, his red wrists were ringed like those of a baby. As he rolled back toward the Morris chair, his stomach surged up and down as if about to break from its moorings.
"I came in to ask a favor," Anthony announced, "I suppose every tourist does the same."
"That's part of a consul's duty," Mr. Weeks panted, while his soft cheeks swelled with every exhalation. "That's what I'm here for."
"I want to cable home for money."
"A little poker game on the way down, eh?" He began to shake ponderously.
"I'm broke, and they won't take a collect message at the cable office. You see, I didn't know I was coming; some of my friends gave me a knockout and shipped me off on the Santa Cruz. The wireless wasn't working, we didn't stop at Jamaica, so this is my first chance to get word home."
"What do you wish me to do?"
"Cable for me and see that I have a place to stop until I get an answer."
A look of distrust crept slowly into the consul's little eyes.
"Are you absolutely broke?"
"I haven't got a jingle."
"How long will it take to hear from your people?"
"If my father is at home, I'll hear instantly."
"And if he isn't?"
"I'll have to wait."
"What makes you think he'll wire you money?"
"He's never failed yet. You see, I'm something like a comet; he knowsI'll be around every so often."
Mr. Weeks began to complain. "I don't know you, Mr.—what's the name again? Anthony? I'm a poor man and I've been an easy mark for every tropical tramp from Vera Cruz to Guayaquil. Your father may not be able to help you, and then I'll be holding the bag."
"I think you don't understand who he is. Did you ever hear of Darwin K.Anthony, of Albany, New York?"
Mr. Weeks's thick lids opened, this time to display a far different emotion. "Certainly."
"Well, he's the goat."
Slowly, grandly, the American consul set his frame in motion, whereat Kirk said, quickly, "Don't get up; I understand." But Mr. Weeks had gone too far to check himself, so he lurched resiliently into an upright position, then across the floor, and, reaching out past his undulating front, as a man reaches forth from the midst of a crowd, shook his guest heartily by the hand.
"Why didn't you say so?" he bubbled. "I'm here to accommodate folks like you. Darwin K. Anthony! Well, RATHER."
"Thanks." The young man wiped his hand surreptitiously. "If you will fix it so I can cable him and sleep aboard the ship, I'll be greatly obliged."
"Nothing of the sort," Mr. Weeks blew through his wet lips. "I'll cable him myself and you'll stay right here as my guest. Delighted to have the privilege."
Kirk cast another glance over the place, and demurred hastily. "Really, I couldn't think of putting you out. I can stay on the Santa Cruz as well as not."
"I couldn't hear to such a thing. You're tired of ship life—everybody is—and I have lots of room—too much room. It's a pleasure to meet real people—this damn country is so full of crooks and dead-beats. No, sir, you'll stay right here where it is cool and comfortable." With a pudgy forefinger he stripped his purple brow of a row of glistening sweat-drops. "I'll have Zeelah fix up a bed where this glorious breeze will play on you. Mr. Anthony, that trade-wind blows just like that all the time—never dies down—it's the only thing that makes life bearable here—that and the whiskey. Have another highball?"