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  CHAPTER III

  HIGH STAKES

  The green shutters were half closed to keep the dazzling sunshine out ofHenry Cliffe's private sitting-room at the smart Florida hotel, but thefresh sea breeze swept in and tempered the heat. The scent of flowersmingled with a delicate perfume such as fastidious women use, but Mrs.Cliffe was enjoying an afternoon nap and her daughter had gone out, sothat Cliffe and Robinson had the room to themselves. They sat, oppositeeach other, at a small table on which stood a bottle and a cigar box,but there was only iced water in the tall glass at Cliffe's hand.

  He had lunched sparingly, as usual, and now leaned back in his chair,looking thoughtful. His hair was turning gray, and his face was thin andlined, but there was a hint of quiet force about him. His dress wasplain but in excellent taste, and he looked, what he was, a good type ofthe American business man, who had, however, as sometimes happens to hiskind, sacrificed his health to commercial success. He was a financierand a floater of companies which generally paid.

  Robinson was tall, with a high color, a prominent, hooked nose, and aface of Jewish cast. His clothes were well cut, but their adherence tothe latest fashion was rather pronounced, and he wore expensivejewelry. He was favorably known on Wall Street and sometimes heard ofwhen a corner was being manipulated in the Chicago wheat pit. Cliffe hadproposed a joint venture, because he knew that Robinson did not fear arisk and he had learned that a Jew can generally be relied upon when thereckoning comes.

  "Well," said Robinson, "I see a chance of trouble. If President Altieragoes down, we lose our money."

  "A sure thing," Cliffe agreed. "It will be our business to keep him onhis feet, and it may cost us something. In a way, that's an advantage.He must have our help, and is willing to bid high for it."

  "The revolutionaries may beat him."

  "If he's left alone; but a little money goes a long way in his country,and the dissatisfied politicians would rather take some as a gift thanrisk their lives by fighting for it. Altiera can buy up most of them ifhe has the means; and he's capable of quieting the rest in a moredrastic way." Cliffe smiled as he continued: "It's not my habit to plana deal without carefully considering what I may get up against."

  "Then it's your honest opinion the thing's a good business chance?"

  "I call it that. One gets nothing for nothing. If you expect a prize,you must put up the stakes."

  "Very well. Suppose you get the concession? Is there gold worth miningin the country?"

  "I can't tell," Cliffe answered frankly. "The Spaniards found a gooddeal three hundred years ago, and now and then a half-breed brings someout of the bush. Guess we could get enough to use as a draw in theprospectus."

  "You'd have to make the prospectus good," Robinson said with athoughtful air. "Not an invariable rule, of course, but our names standfor something with the investing public."

  "I generally do make good. If we don't strike gold, there's rubber, andthe soil will grow high-grade cane and coffee. Give me the concessionand I'll make it pay."

  Robinson nodded. Cliffe's business talent was particularly marked in thedevelopment of virgin territory, though he never undertook the work inperson. He knew where to find the right men, and how far to trust them.

  "I suppose we won't be required to meddle with dago politics?" Robinsonsuggested.

  "Certainly not; that's Altiera's affair, and he's capable of lookingafter it. A number of his people are getting tired of him, but so longas he can pay his soldiers up to time and buy support where he can't useforce, he'll keep control."

  "A bit of a brute, I've heard."

  "He's not a humanitarian," Cliffe agreed. "Still, countries like hisneed a firm hand."

  "Guess that's so," said Robinson.

  He and Cliffe were respected in business circles. They met theirobligations and kept the rules that govern financial dealings. That theymight now be lending their support to tyrannical oppression, and helpingto stifle the patriotic aspirations of a downtrodden people, did notenter their minds. That was not their affair; they were out for money,and their responsibility ended with the payment of dividends to thosewho bought their stock. They would fulfill this duty if the thing werepossible; although their standard of morality was not of the highest,they had prosperous rivals who fell short of it.

  "I'll stand in," Robinson decided after a few moments' silence. "You canlet me know how much you will need to carry you through when you getyour plans worked out."

  "Very well. It's over the first payments we take a risk. The money will,so to speak, vanish. We'll have nothing to show for it except the goodwill of the men in power. Some of it may even get into the wrong hands."

  Robinson made a sign of comprehension. He knew something about officialgraft, for he now and then found it needful to smooth the way for a newventure by judicious bribery.

  "There'll be no trouble after we've bought the concession," Cliffecontinued. "The cash will then go to the treasury, and whichever partygets control will have to stand to the bargain. And now I guess we canlet the matter drop until I fix things up."

  They went out to a seat on the veranda, which looked across a row ofdusty palmettos and a strip of arid lawn that the glistening showersfrom the sprinklers could not keep green. An inlet of blue water ran upto its edge, and beyond the curve of sheltering beach the long Atlanticswell rolled into the bay flecked with incandescent foam, for thesunshine was dazzling and the breeze was fresh. Two or three miles awaythere was a stretch of calmer water behind a long point on which thesurf beat, and in the midst of this a small steamer gently rolled atanchor. Nearer the inlet, a little sailing-boat stood out to sea, hervarnished deck and snowy canvas gleaming in the strong light.

  "Miss Cliffe's boat, isn't it?" Robinson remarked. "Looks very small; Is'pose she's safe?"

  "New York canoe club model," Cliffe replied. "Had her brought down on afreight-car. Evelyn's fond of sailing and smart at the helm. She's allright--though the breeze does seem pretty fresh."

  While they talked about other matters, Evelyn Cliffe sat in the stern ofthe tiny sloop, enjoying the sense of control the grasp of the tillergave her, and the swift rush of the polished hull through the sparklingfoam. There was also some satisfaction in displaying her nerve and skillto the loungers on the beach, who were, for the most part, fashionablepeople from the Northern States. Among these was a young man upon whomEvelyn knew her mother looked with approval.

  Though he had much to recommend him, and had shown a marked preferencefor her society, Evelyn had come to no decision about Reginald Gore, butshe was willing that he should admire her seamanship, and it was,perhaps, in the expectation of meeting him afterward that she haddressed herself carefully. She wore well-cut blue serge that emphasizedher fine pink-and-white color, and matched her eyes; and the small bluecap did not hide her red-gold hair.

  As the breeze freshened, she forgot the spectators, and began to wishshe had taken a reef in the mainsail before starting. Hitherto she hadhad somebody with her when it was necessary to shorten canvas; but itwas unlike a sport to turn back because of a little wind. She wouldstand on until she had weathered the point and was out on the openAtlantic, and then run home. The strain on the helm got heavier, thefoam crept level with the lee deck, and sometimes sluiced along it whenthe boat dipped her bows in a sea. Then the spray began to beat upon theslanted canvas, and whipped Evelyn's face as she braced herself againstthe tiller.

  The boat was sailing very fast, plunging through the sparkling ridges ofwater; there was something strangely exhilarating in her speed and theway the foam swirled past. Evelyn had an adventurous temperament, and,being then twenty-three, was young enough to find a keen relish inoutdoor sport. Now she was matching her strength and skill against theblue Atlantic combers, which were getting steeper and frothing on theircrests. The point was falling to leeward; it would be a fair wind home,and she determined to stand on a little longer. Casting a quick glanceastern, she saw that the figures on the beach had grown indistinct andsmall. She felt alone
with the sea at last, and the situation had itscharm; but when she fixed her eyes ahead she wished that the rollerswere not quite so large. She had to ease the boat over them; sometimeslet the sheet run in the harder gusts, and then it was not easy to getthe wet rope in.

  When the point shut off the beach, she saw she must come round, and,after waiting for a patch of smooth water, put up the helm to jibe. Thestrain on the sheet was heavier than she thought; the rope bruised herfingers as it ran through them. The boat rolled wildly, and then the bigsail swung over with a crash. Evelyn saw with alarm that the gaff alongits head had stopped at an unusual angle to the canvas. Something hadgone wrong. But her nerve was good. She could lower the mainsail andrun home under the jib.

  When she left the helm the boat shot up into the wind, with the longboom banging to and fro and the spray flying across her. Evelyn loosedthe halyards, but found that the gaff would not come down. Its endworked upon a brass slide on the mast, and the grips had bent andjambed. Things now looked awkward. It was blowing moderately fresh, thesea was getting up, and the sail she could not shorten might capsize theboat.

  With difficulty, she got the sloop round, but, as the gaff was jambed,she would not steer a course that would take her to the inlet, andEvelyn remembered with alarm that there was some surf on the beach. Shecould swim, but she shrank from the thought of struggling ashore fromthe wrecked craft through broken water. Still, it was some comfort tosee the point drop astern and the beach get nearer; she was on the wayto land, there were boats on the inlet, and somebody might notice thatshe was in difficulties. No boat came off, however, and she realizedthat from a distance nothing might appear to be wrong with the sloop.When she was near enough to signal for help it would be too late.

  A small steamer lurched at anchor not far away; but Evelyn could notreach her: the sloop was like a bird with a broken wing and could onlyblunder clumsily, in danger of capsizing, before the freshening wind. Inanother quarter of an hour she would be in the surf, which now lookeddangerously heavy.

  While she was trying to nerve herself for the struggle to land, she sawa boat leave the steamer's side. It was a very small dinghy, and therewas only one man on board, but he waved his hand as if he understoodher peril, and then rowed steadily to intercept her. This neededjudgment: if he miscalculated the distance it would be impossible forhim to overtake the sloop. And Evelyn could do nothing to help. She mustconcentrate her attention upon keeping her craft before the wind. If shejibed, bringing the big sail violently over with its head held fastwould result in a capsize.

  Five minutes later she risked a glance. The dinghy was close at hand,lurching up and down, lost from sight at intervals among the combers.The man, coatless and hatless, seemed to be handling her with caution,easing her when a roller with a foaming crest bore down on him, butEvelyn thought he would not miss her boat. Her heart beat fast as sheput the helm hard down. The sloop swung round, slackening speed as shecame head to wind, there was a thud alongside, and the man jumped onboard with a rope in his hand.

  Then things began to happen so rapidly that the girl could not rememberexactly what was done; but the man showed a purposeful activity. Hescrambled along the narrow deck, got a few feet up the mast, and thesail came down; then he sprang aft to the helm, and the sloop headed forthe steamer, with his dinghy in tow and only the jib set.

  They were alongside in a few minutes, and he seized a rope that some onethrew him.

  "Our gig's hauled up on the beach for painting, and I'm afraid wecouldn't reach the landing in the dinghy, now the sea's getting up," hesaid. "You'd better come on board, and I'll see if Macallister can putyour gaff right."

  Evelyn hesitated, for she suspected that it would take some time to mendthe damaged spar. It was not an adventure her mother would approve of,but as she could see no way of reaching land, she let the man help herthrough the gangway.