II
AT THE KAST
One dines at the Gran Hotel Kast after the fashion of a champignon souscloche. The top of the cloche is of fluted glass, with a wide aperturebetween it and the sides, to admit the rain in the wet season and theflies in the dry. Three balconies run up from the dining-room well tothis roof, and upon these, as near to the railings as they choose, therather conglomerate patronage of the place sleeps, takes baths, dresses,gossips, makes love, quarrels, and exchanges prophecies as to nextSunday's bullfight, while the diners below strive to select from thebill of fare special morsels upon which they will stake their internalpeace for the day. No cabaret can hold a candle to it for variety ofinterest. When the sudden torrential storms sweep down the mountainsat meal times, the little human champignons, beneath their insufficientcloche, rush about wildly seeking spots where the drippage will notwash their food away. Commercial travelers of the tropics have a saying:"There are worse hotels in the world than the Kast--but why take thetrouble?" And, year upon year, they return there for reasons connectedwith the other hostelries of Caracuna, which I forbear to specify.
To Miss Polly Brewster, the Kast was a place of romance. Five milesaway, as the buzzard flies, she could have dined well, even elegantly,on the Brewster yacht. Would she have done it? Not for worlds! MissBrewster was entranced by the courtly manners of her waiter, who hadlost one ear and no small part of the countenance adjacent thereto, onlytoo obviously through the agency of some edged instrument not wielded inthe arts of peace. She was further delightedly intrigued by the abruptappearance of a romantic-hued gentleman, who thrust out over thevoid from the second balcony an anguished face, one side of which wasprofusely lathered, and addressed to all the hierarchy of heaven above,and the peoples of the earth beneath, a passionate protest upon thesubject of a cherished and vanished shaving brush; what time, below, thehead waiter was hastily removing from sight, though not from memory, asoup tureen whose agitated surface bore a creamy froth not of a lactealorigin. One may not with impunity balance personal implements upon thetoo tremulous rails of the ancient Kast.
With an appreciative and glowing eye, Miss Brewster read from hermimeographed bill of fare such legends as "ropa con carne," "bacalaoseco," "enchiladas," and meantime devoured chechenaca, which, had itbeen translated into its just and simple English of "hash," she wouldnot have given to her cat.
Nor did her visual and prandial preoccupations inhibit her from a livelyinterest in the surrounding Babel of speech in mingled Spanish, Dutch,German, English, Italian, and French, all at the highest pitch, fora few rods away the cathedral bells were saluting Heaven with all theclangor and din of the other place, and only the strident of voicegained any heed in that contest. Even after the bells paused, the habitof effort kept the voices up. Miss Brewster, dining with her father afew hours after her return from the mountain, absolved her consciencefrom any intent of eavesdropping in overhearing the talk of the tableto the right of her. The remark that first fixed her attention was inEnglish, of the super-British patois.
"Can't tell wot the blighter might look like behind those bloomin' brownglasses."
"But he's not bothersome to any one," suggested a second speaker, in aslightly foreign accent. "He regards his own affairs."
"Right you are, bo!" approved a tall, deeply browned man of thirty, allsinewy angles, who, from the shoulders up, suggested nothing so much asa club with a gnarled knob on the end of it, a tough, reliable, hardwoodclub, capable of dealing a stiff blow in an honest cause. "If he dealsin conversation, he must SELL it. I don't notice him giving any of itaway."
"He gave some to Kast the last time he dined here," observed a languidand rather elegant elderly man, who occupied the fourth side of thetable. "Mine host didn't like it."
"I should suppose Senior Kast would be hardened," remarked the youngCaracunan who had defended the absent.
"Our eyeglassed friend scored for once, though. They had just servedhim the usual table-d'hote salad--you know, two leaves of lettuce with acaterpillar on one. Kast happened to be passing. Our friend beckoned himover. 'A little less of the fauna and more of the flora, Senior Kast,'said he in that gritty, scientific voice of his. I really thought Kastwas going to forget his Swiss blood, and chase a whole peso of customright out of the place."
"If you ask me, I think the blighter is barmy," asserted the Briton.
"Well, I'll ask you," proffered the elegant one kindly. "Why do youconsider him 'barmy,' as you put it?"
"When I first saw him here and heard him speak to the waiter, I knewhim for an American Johnny at once, and I went, directly I'd finished mysoup, and sat down at his table. The friendly touch, y' know. 'I say,'I said to him, 'I don't know you, but I heard you speak, and I knew atonce you were one of these Americans--tell you at once by the beastlyqueer accent, you know. You are an American, ay--wot?' Wot d' yousuppose the blighter said? He said, 'No, I'm an ichthyo'--somethin' orother--"
"Ichthyosaurus, perhaps," supplied the Caracunuan, smiling.
"That's it, whatever it may be. 'I'm an ichthyosaurus,' he says. 'It'sa very old family, but most of the buttons are off. Were you ever bittenby one in the fossil state? Very exhilaratin', but poisonous,' he says.'So don't let me keep you any longer from your dinner.' Of course, I sawthen that he was a wrong un, so I cut him dead, and walked away."
"Served him right," declared the elderly American, with a solemn twinkledirected at the tall brown man, who, having opened his mouth, nowthought better of it, and closed it again, with a grin.
"But he is very kind," said the native. "When my brother fell and brokehis arm on the mountain, this gentleman found him, took care of him, andbrought him in on muleback."
"Lives up there somewhere, doesn't he, Mr. Raimonda?" asked the big man.
"In the quinta of a deserted plantation," replied the Caracunan.
"Wot's he do?" asked the Englishman.
"Ah, THAT one does not know, unless Senor Sherwen can tell us."
"Not I," said the elderly man. "Some sort of scientific investigation,according to the guess of the men at the club."
"You never can tell down here," observed the Englishman darkly. "Mightbe a blind, you know. Calls himself Perkins. Dare say it isn't his nameat all."
"Daughter," said Mr. Thatcher Brewster at this juncture, in a patientand plaintive voice, "for the fifth and last time, I implore you to passme the butter, or that which purports to be butter, in the dish at yourelbow."
"Oh, poor dad! Forgive me! But I was overhearing some news of an--anacquaintance."
"Do you know any of the gentlemen upon whose conversation you areeavesdropping?"
In financial circles, Mr. Brewster was credited with the possession ofa cold blue eye and a denatured voice of interrogation, but he seldomsucceeded in keeping a twinkle out of the one and a chuckle out of theother when conversing with his daughter.
"Not yet," observed that damsel calmly.
"Meaning, I suppose I am to understand--"
"Precisely. Haven't you noticed them looking this way? Presently they'llbe employing all their strategy to meet me. They'll employ it on you."
Mr. Brewster surveyed the group dubiously.
"In a country such as this, one can't be too--too cau--"
"Too particular, as you were saying," cut in his daughter cheerfully."Men are scarce--except Fitzhugh, who is rather less scarce than Iwish he were lately. You know," she added, with a covert glance atthe adjoining table, "I wouldn't be surprised if you found yourself anextremely popular papa immediately after dinner. It might even go so faras cigars. Do you suppose that lovely young Caracunan is a bullfighter?"
"No; I believe he's a coffee exporter. Less romantic, but morerespectable. Quite one of the gilded youth of Caracuna. His name isRaimonda. Fitzhugh knows him. By the way, where on earth is Fitzhugh?"
"Trying to fit a kind and gentlemanly expression over a swollen sense ofinjury, for a guess," replied the girl carelessly. "I left him in sweetand lone communion with nature three h
ours ago."
"Polly, I wish--"
"Oh, dad, dear, don't! You'll get your wish, I suppose, and Fitz, too.Only I don't want to be hurried. Here he is, now. Look at that smile!A sculptor couldn't have done any better. Now, as soon as he comes, I'mgoing to be quite nice and kind."
But Mr. Fairfax Preston Fitzhugh Carroll did not come direct to theBrewster table. Instead, he stopped to greet the elderly man inthe near-by group, and presently drew up a chair. At first, theirconversation was low-toned, but presently the young native added hismore vivacious accents.
"Who can tell?" the Brewsters heard him say, and marked the fatalisticgesture of the upturned hands. "They disappear. One does not askquestions too much."
"Not here," confirmed the big man. "Always room for a few more in theundersea jails, eh?"
"Always. But I think it was not that with Basurdo. I think it wasunderground, not undersea." He brushed his neck with his finger tips.
"Is it dangerous for foreigners?" asked Carroll quickly.
"For every one," answered Sherwen; adding significantly: "But theCaracunan Government does not approve of loose fostering of rumors."
Carroll rose and came over to the Brewsters.
"May I bring Mr. Graydon Sherwen over and present him?" he asked. "I canvouch for him, having known his family at home, and--"
"Oh, bring them all, Fitzhugh," commanded the girl.
The exponent of Southern aristocracy looked uncomfortable.
"As to the others," he said, "Mr. Raimonda is a native--"
"With the manners of a prince. I've quite fallen in love with himalready," she said wickedly.
"Of course, if you wish it. But the other American is an ex-professionalbaseball player, named Cluff."
"What? 'Clipper' Cluff? I knew I'd seen him before!" cried Miss Polly."He got his start in the New York State League. Why, we're quite oldfriends, by sight."
"As for Galpy, he's an underbred little cockney bounder."
"With the most naive line of conversation I've ever listened to. I wantall of them."
"Let me bring Sherwen first," pleaded the suitor, and was presentlyintroducing that gentleman. "Mr. Sherwen is in charge here of theAmerican Legation," he explained.
"How does one salute a real live minister?" queried Miss Brewster.
"Don't mistake me for anything so important," said Sherwen. "We're notkeeping a minister in stock at present. My job is being a superior kindof janitor until diplomatic relations are resumed."
"Goodness! It sounds like war," said Miss Brewster hopefully. "Is thereanything as exciting as that going on?"
"Oh, no. Just a temporary cessation of civilities between the twonations. If it weren't indiscreet--"
"Oh, do be indiscreet!" implored the girl, with clasped hands. "I admireindiscretion in others, and cultivate it in myself."
Mr. Carroll looked pained, as the other laughed and said:--
"Well, it would certainly be most undiplomatic for me to hint that thegreat and friendly nation of Hochwald, which wields more influence andhas a larger market here than any other European power, has become alittle jealous of the growing American trade. But the fact remains thatthe Hochwald minister and his secretary, Von Plaanden, who is a veryable citizen when sober,--and is, of course, almost always sober,--havenot exerted themselves painfully to compose the little misunderstandingbetween President Fortuno and us. The Dutch diplomats, who are not asdiplomatic in speech as I am, would tell you, if there were any of themleft here to tell anything, that Von Plaanden's intrigues brought onthe present break with them. So there you have a brief, but reliable'History of Our Times in the Island Republic of Caracuna.'"
"Highly informative and improving to the untutored mind," Miss Brewstercomplimented him. "I like seeing the wires of empire pulled. More,please."
"Perhaps you won't like the next so well," observed Carroll grimly."There is bubonic plague here."
"Oh--ah!" protested Sherwen gently. "The suspicion of plague. Quite adifferent matter."
"Which usually turns out to be the same, doesn't it?" inquired Mr.Brewster.
"Perhaps. People disappear, and one is not encouraged to ask about them.But then people disappear for many causes in Caracuna. Politics here aresomewhat--well--Philadelphian in method. But--there is smoke rising frombehind Capo Blanco."
"What is there?" inquired the girl.
"The lazaretto. Still, it might be yellow fever, or only smallpox. TheGovernment is not generous with information. To have plague discoverednow would be very disturbing to the worthy plans of the HochwaldLegation. For trade purposes, they would very much dislike to have theport closed for a considerable time by quarantine. The Dutch difficultythey can arrange when they will. But quarantine would bring in theUnited States, and that is quite another matter. Well, we'll see, whenDr. Pruyn gets here."
"Who is he?" asked Carroll.
"Special-duty man of the United States Public Health Service. The bestman on tropical diseases and quarantine that the service has ever had."
"That isn't Luther Pruyn, is it?" inquired Mr. Brewster.
"The same. Do you know him?"
"Yes."
"More than I do, except by reputation."
"He was in my class at college, but I haven't seen him since. I'd beglad to see him again. A queer, dry fellow, but character and grit tohis backbone."
"I'd supposed he was younger," said Sherwen. "Anyway, he's comparativelynew to the service. His rise is the more remarkable. At present, he'snot only our quarantine representative, with full powers, butunofficially he acts, while on his roving commission, for the British,the Dutch, the French, and half the South American republics. I supposehe's really the most important figure in the Caracuna crisis--and hehasn't even got here yet. Perhaps our Hochwaldian friends have capturedhim on the quiet. It would pay 'em, for if there is plague here, he'llcertainly trail it down."
"Oh, I'm tired of plague," announced Miss Polly. "Bring the others hereand let's all go over to the plaza, where it's cool."
To their open and obvious delight, exhibited jauntily by the Englishman,with awkward and admiring respectfulness by the ball-player, and withgraceful ease by the handsome Caracunan, the rest were invited to jointhe party.
"Don't let them scare you about plague, Miss Brewster," said Cluff, asthey found their chairs. "Foreigners don't get it much."
"Oh, I'm not afraid! But, anyway, we shouldn't have time to catch even acold. We leave to-morrow."
The men exchanged glances.
"How?" inquired Sherwen and Raimonda in a breath.
"In the yacht, from Puerto del Norte."
"Not if it were a British battleship," said Galpy. "Port's closed."
"What? Quarantine already?" said Carroll.
"Quarantine be blowed! It's the Dutch."
"I thought you knew," said Sherwen. "All the town is ringing with thenews. It just came in to-night. Holland has declared a blockade untilCaracuna apologizes for the interference with its cable."
"And nothing can pass?" asked Mr. Brewster.
"Nothing but an aeroplane or a submarine."
There was a silence. Miss Polly Brewster broke it with a curiousquestion:--
"What day is day after to-morrow?"
Several voices had answered her, but she paid little heed, for there hadslipped over her shoulder a brown thin hand holding a cunningly wovenclosed basket of reedwork. A soft voice murmured something in Spanish.
"What does he say?" asked the girl "For me?"
"He thinks it must be for you," translated Raimonda, "from thedescription."
"What description?"
"He was told to go to the hotel and deliver it to the most beautifullady. There could hardly be any mistaking such specific instructionseven by an ignorant mountain peon," he added, smiling.
The girl opened the curious receptacle, and breathed a little gasp ofdelight. Bedded in fern, lay a mass of long sprays aquiver with bellsof the purest, most lucent white, each with a great glow of gold at it
sheart.
"Ah," observed the young Caracunan, "I see that you are persona gratawith our worthy President, Miss Brewster."
"President Fortuno?" asked the girl, surprised. "No; not that I'm awareof. Why do you say that?"
"That is his special orchid--almost the official flower. They call it'the President's orchid.'"
"Has he a monopoly of growing them?" asked Miss Brewster.
"No one can grow them. They die when transplanted from their nativecliffs. But it's only the President's rangers who are daring enough toget them."
"Are they so inaccessible?"
"Yes. They grow nowhere but on the cliff faces, usually in the wildestpart of the mountains. Few people except the hunters and mountaineersknow where, and it's only the most adventurous of them who go after theflowers."
"Do you suppose this boy got these?" Miss Brewster indicated the shy anddusky messenger.
Raimonda spoke to the boy for a moment.
"No; he didn't collect them. Nor is he one of the President's men. Idon't quite understand it."
"Who did gather them?"
"All that he will say is, 'the master.'"
"Oh!" said Miss Brewster, and retired into a thoughtful silence.
"They're very beautiful, aren't they?" continued the Caracunan. "Andthey carry a pretty sentiment."
"Tell me," commanded the girl, emerging from her reverie.
"The mountaineers say that their fragrance casts a spell which carriesthe thought back to the giver."
"Is that the language of science?" she queried absently, with a thoughtfar away.
"But no, senorita, assuredly not," said the young Caracufian. "It isthe language--permit that I say it better in French--c'est le langaged'amour."