A RULER OF MEN.

Lyttelton Times, Volume CXVI, Issue 14169, 18 September 1906, Page 10

A RULER OF MEN.

‘ (By 0. HENRY.) I "walked the streets of the City of Insolence, thirsting- for the sight of a stranger face. For the City is a desert of familiar- types a<S thick and alike >6 the grains in a sand-storm; and you grow to hate them'as you do a‘friend who is always by you, or one of your 9wn kin. And my desire was granted, for 1 law, near a corner of Broadway and ■ Twenty-ninth Street, a little flaxenhaired man with a face like a ecalybark hickbry-nut, selling to a fastgathering crowd a tool that omnigeneously .proclaimed itself a c»u-openor, a screw-driver, ■ a batton-hook, • a nailfile, a shoe-horn, a watch-guard, a po-toto-peeler, and an ornament to any gentleman’s' key-ring. And then a stall-fed cop himself through the congregation of customers.’ ’ The vender, plainly used to haying his seasons of trade thus ab- ; , ruptly curtailed, closed his satchel and ' slipped like a weasel through the opposite,' segment of the circle. The crowd scurried, aimlessly, away like ants from a disturbed crumb. The cop, suddenly becoming oblivious of the earth end its inhabitants, stood, still, swelling his bulk and putting hie blub through an intricate drill of twirls. I hurried after Kansas Bill Bowers, and caught—him by an arm. Wi(*KKit his looking at, me or slowing his pace, I found ■ a - fivo-dollar bill crumpled neatly into my ha nd. • “ I wouldn’t have thought. Kansas Bill,” I said, “ that you’d hold an old friend that cheap.” • Then -ho.turned bis head., and the hickory-nut cracked into a t ride smile. “ Give back the money,” said ho, ‘'or. I.’ll .have the cop after you tor false pretences. I thought y z in was the pop-” ■ . “I want to talk to you, Bi 1 I,” I said. “ When, did, .you leave Oklahoma? Where is Reddy AI Gill now? Why are you selling th-coe impossible contraptions bn the street ? How did your Big Horn gold-mine pan out? Hew did you get so badly sunburned. 1 ? What will-you drink?” . “A year ago,” answered Kansas Bill systematically- • “ Flitting up windmills in Arizona. ■ For pin money to, buy etceteras with.. Salted. Been down in' the tropics. Beer.” Wo forgathered in a propitious place and became Elijans, while a waiter of dark pluiriage played the raven to perfection. Reminiscence needs must. be had before I could steer Kill into his epic mood. ’ “Yes,” said he, “I mind the time TLmotco’s rope broke on that cow’s * horns while the calf was chasing you. You and that oowl I’d never forget it.” “The tropics,” said I, “are a broad territory. What part of Cancer or Oaprioorn have you been honouring with a visit?” . “ Down along China or Peru—or maybe the Argentine Confederacy,” •aid Kansas Bill. “ Anyway ’twas among, a great,raoe-’of people, off-col-oured- but progressive. I was there three months.” “ No doubt you are glad to be back among the truly great race,” I surmised. “ Especially -svmong New Yorker*, the most progressive and independent citizens' of any country in the world,” I continued, with the fatuity ' of the- provincial who has eaten the Broadway lotus. . “ Do yon- want to start ‘an argument P” aekd Bill. “ Can there be one?” I answered. “ Has an Irishman humour, do you think?” asked he. ! “1 have an hour or two to spare,” ■aid I; looking at the cafe .clock. ' “ Not that the Americans aren’t a Seat commercial nation,” conceded 11. ‘But the fault lay with the people who wrote lies for fiction.” “•What was this Irishman’s name?” [ asked. ' “ Was that long beer cold enough?” ■ild he. ' ’ . “ I see there Is talk of further outbreaks among, the Russian peasants,” I remarked. “ His - name was Barney O’Connor, ■aid BiP , Thus, Pecans© of our _ ancient prescience of .each other’s trail of thought, we traveled ambiguously to the point where K jnsas Bill's story began; .“1 met O’Connor in a boardinghouse on the West Side. He invited me to his hall-room to have a drink, and we-became like a dog and cat that had been • raised together. There he •at, a tall; fine, handsome man, with his feet against one wall and his back against the other, looking over a map. On the bed, and sticking three feet out of it, was a beautiful gold sword with tassels on it and rhinestones in the handle. “ ‘What is this?’ says I (for by that time we were well acquainted). ‘ The annual parade in vilification of the ex•nakes of Ireland? And what’s the.line of march? Up Broadway to Fortyaeoond; thence east to M’Oarty’s cafe; thence ’ • “ ‘ Sit down on the wa&hetand,’ says O’Connor, ‘ and listen. And cast no perversions on the sword. ’Twas me father’s in old Munster. And this map, Bowers, is no diagram of a holiday procession. If ye look again ye’ll see that It’s the continent known as South America, comprising fourteen green, 'blue, red and yellow countries, all crying out , from time to time to b© liberated from the yoke of the oppressor.’ ‘‘‘l know,says I to O’Qpnnor. ‘The idea is a literary one. Thetencent magazines stole it from “ Rid-pat-h’e History of the World • from the Sandstone Period to the Equator.” - You’ll find it in every one of ’em. It’s a continued story of a soldier of fortune, generally named O’Keefe, who fete to be dictator while the SpanishAmerica n ■ popul ac e cries ‘ ‘ Coepetto! ’ ’ and other Italian maledictions. I misdoubt if it’s over been done. You’re not thinking of that, are you, Barney?’ “ ‘ Bowers,’ says he, ‘ you’re a man of education and courage.’ “‘How can I deny it?’ says I. ‘ Education runs in my family; and 1 have' acquired courage by a hard struggle with life.’ “ ‘ The O’Connors,’ says he, ‘ are a warlike 1 race. There is m© father s sword; and here is the mop. A Hfeof inaction is not for me. The o’Connors were born to rule. ’Tis a ruler of men I must be.’ • “ ‘Barney,’ I says to him, why don t you get. on the force arid settle down to a quiet life of carnage and oorrup- , tion instead of roaming off to foreign parts? In what better way can you indulge your desire to subdue and. maltreat the oppressed?’ “ ‘ Look again at the map, _ says he, * at the country I have the point of mo knife on. ’Tis that one I nave selected to aid and overthrow with me father’s sword.’ “‘I see,-’ says I. ‘lt’s the • green one; and that does credit to your judgment.’ ■ “‘Do ye accuse me of cowardice?’ ■ays Barney, turning pink. '“ ‘No man,’ says 1, ‘ who at tacks and confiscates a country single-handed could ire called a coward. ■ The "worst you can be charged with is plagiarism or imitation. If Anthony Hope and Boosevelt let you get away with it, nobody else will have any right- to kick.’ “ I’m not joking,’ says O’Oonnor. ‘ And I’ve got loOOdol cash to work the scheme with. I’ve taken a liking to you. Do you want in. or not?’ “ ‘l’m not working,* I told him; ‘but-how is it to be? Do I eat during the fomentation of the insurrection, or •IS I only to bo Secretary of War after

the country is conquered i Is it to be a pay envelope or only a portfolio?’ “I’ll pay all expenses,’ says O’Connor. ‘ I want a man I can trust. If I succeed you may pick out any appointment you want in the gift of the Government.’ “ ‘All right, then,’ says I. ‘You can got me a bunch of draying contracts and then a quick-action consignment to a seat on the Supreme Court Bench so I won’t be in line for the presidency. I wouldn’t mind Uncle Jce, but the kind of cannon they chasten their presidents with in that country hurt too much. You can consider me on the pay-roll.’ “ Two weeks afterwards O’Connor and me took a steamer for the small, green, doomed . country. . We were three weeks on the trip. O’Connor said he had his plans all figured out in advance; but being the commanding general, it consorted with his dignity to keep the details concealed from his armv and cabinet, commonly known as William T. Bowers. Three dollars a day was the price for which I joined the cause of liberating an undiscovered country from the ills that threatened or sustained it. Every Saturday night on the steamer I stood in lino at parade rest, and O’Connor handed over the twenty-on© dollars. “ The town wo landed at was named Guayaquerta, so they told me, •‘Not for me,’ says X. It’ll be- old Hilldale or Tompkinsvillo or Cherry Tree Corners when I speak of it. It’s a clear case where Brander Matthews and Andy ought to butt in and disenvowel it.’ “ But the town looked fine from the bay when we sailed in. ' It was white, with green niching, and lacs ruffles on the skirt when the surf splashed up on the sand. It looked as tropical and dolce far ultra as the pictures of Lake Ronkonkoma in the brochure of the passenger department of the Long Island Railroad. “ Wo went through the quarantine and Custom-house indignities; and then O’Connor leads me to a ’dobe house on a street called ‘ The Avenue of the Dolorous Butterflies of the Individual and Collective Saints.’ Ten feet wide it was, and knee-deep in alfalfa and cigar-stumps. ‘■‘Hooligan Alley,’ says I, reohristening it. “ ‘ ’Twill bo our headquarters,’ says O’Connor. ‘ My agent here, Don Fernando Pacheco, secured it for us.’ “ So in that house O’Connor and me established the. revolutionary centre. In the front room we had ostensible things suoH as fruit, a guitar, and a table with a conch-shell on it. In the back room O’Oonnor had his desk and a large looking-glass and his eword hid in a roll of straw matting. We slept on hammocks that wo hung to hooks In the walls; and took our meals at the Hotel Ingles, a beanery rim on the American plan by a German proprietor with Chinese cooking served'a la Kansas City, Clinton and Springfield Rail-, road lunch-oountei table d’hote. “ It seems that O’Connor really did hare some sort oi system planned outbeforehand. He wrote plenty of letters; and every day or two some native gent would stroll around to headquarters and b© shut up in the back room for half an hour with O’Connor and the interpreter. I noticed that when 'they went in they were always smoking eight-inch cigars and at peace, with the world; but when they came out they would be folding up a ten or. twonty-dollar bill and cursing the Go- , -vernment horribly. _ | “ One evening after w© had been in Guaya—in this town of Smellville-by- j the-Sea—about a month, and me and I O’Connor were sitting outside the door helping along old tempos fugit with rum and ice and limes, I says to i him: , ‘ j “ ‘lf you’ll excuse a patriot that don’t exactly know what he’s palronis- j ing, for the question—what is your scheme for subjugating this country? Do you intend to plunge it into bloodshed, or do you mean to buy its votes peacefully and honourably. at the polls?’ “ ‘Bowers,’ says he, ‘ ye’re a fin© little man; and I intend to make great use of ye after the conflict. But ye do not understand statecraft. Already I by now we have a network of strategy clutching with invisible fingers at the throat of the tyrant Calderas, We have agents at work in every town in the republic. The Liberal party is bound to win; On our secret lists we have the names of enough sympathisers to crush the administration forces at a single blow.’ “A straw vote,’ says I, only showe which way the hot air blows.’ “ ‘Who has accomplished this?’ goes on. O’Connor. ‘ I have. I have directed everything. The time was ripe when we came, so my agents inform me. The people are groaning under their burden of taxes and levies. Who will be their natural leader when they rise? . Could it be anyone but meself? ’Twas drily yesterday that Zaldas, our representative in , the province of Durasnas, tells riie that the people, in secret, already call me “ El Library Door,” which is the Spanish manner of saying “the Liberator.’” “ ‘ Was Zaldas that maroon-coloured old Aztec with a paper collar on and unbleached domestic shoes?’ I asked. “ ,‘ Ho was,’ says O’Connor. “ ‘ I saw him tucking a yellow-back into his vest pocket as h© came out,’ says I. ‘ It may be,’ says I, ‘ that they call you a library door, but they treat you more like the side door of a bank. But let us hop© for the worst.’ “ ‘ It has cost money, of course,’ says O’Oonnor; ‘but we’ll have the country in our hands inside of a month.’ “In the evenings w© walked about in the plaza and listened to- the band playing and mingled with the populace at its distressing and obnoxious pleasures. There were thirteen vehicles belonging to the upper classes, mostly rock-aways and old-style barouches, such as the Mayor rides in at the unveiling of the new poorhouso at Milledgeville, Alabama. - Round and round the desiccated fountain in the middle of the plaza "they drove, and lifted their high silk hats to their friends._ The common people .walked around in barefooted bunches, puffing stogies that a Pittsburg millionaire wouldn’t have chewed for a dry smoke on Ladies* Day at his club. And the grandest figure in the whole turnout was Barney O’Connor. Six foot- two he stood_ in his Fifth Avenue clothes, with his eagle eye and his black moustache that tickled his ears. He was a born dictator and czar nud hero and harrier of the " human race. It looked to ms that all eyes were turned upon O’Connor, and -that every woman there loved him and every man feared him. Once or twice I looked at him and thought, of funnier things that had happened than, his winning out in his game; and I began to feel like a Hidalgo de Officio de Grafto de South America myself. And then I would come down again to solid bottom and let my imagination gloat, as usual, upon the twenty-one American dollars due me on Saturday night. . “ ‘ Take note,’ says O’Connor to me as thus he walked, ‘of the mass of the people. Observe their oppressed and melancholy air. Cam ye hot see that they are ripe for revolt? Do ye not perceive that they are disaffected?’ ■ “‘1 <3o not,’ says I. ‘Nor dieim footed either. I’m beinning to understand these people. When they look unhappv they’re enjoying themselves. When "they feel unhappy they go to sleep. ' They’re not the kb-d of people to take an interest in revolutions. “‘They’ll flock to our standard,’ says O’Connor. ' Three thousand men in this town alone will spring to arms when the signal is given. I am assured of that. But everything is in secret. There is no chance for us to fail.’ “ On Hooligan Alley, ns I prefer to call the street our headquarters was on, there was a row of flat ’dobe houses with red tile roofs, some straw shacks

full of Indians and dogs, and one twostorey wooden house with balconies a little farther down. That was where General Tnrabal-o, the oommaudante and commander of the military forces, lived. Right across the street was a private residence built like a combination bake-oven and folding-bed. One day O’Connor and me were passing it, single file, on the flange they called a sidewalk, when out of the window flies a big red rose. O’Connor, _ who is ahead, picks it up, presses it to his fifth rib, and bows to the ground. By carrambos! that man certainly had the Irish drama cheunceyiscd. X looked around expecting to see the little boy and girl in white sateen ready to jump on hie shoulder while he jolted their spinal columns and ribs together through a breakdown and sang; ‘ Sleep, Little One, Sleep.’ “ As I passed the window I glanced inside and caught- a- glimpse of a white dress and a pair of big, flashing black ©yes and gleaming teeth under a dark lace mantilla. “ When we got back to our bouse o’Oonnor began to walk up and down the floor and twist his mustaches. “Did yo see her eyes, Bowers?’ he asks me. “ ‘ I did,’ says I, ‘ and I can see more than that. It’s all coming out according to the story-books. I knew there was something missing. ’Twas the ll ve interest. What is it that comes in Chapter VII. to cheer the gallant Irish adventurer? Why, Love, of course— Love that makes the hat go round. At last wo have the eyes of midnight hue and the rose flung from the barred window. Now, what comes next? The underground passage —the intercepted letter—the traitor in camp—the hero thrown into a dungeon—the mysterious message from the senorita —then the outburst—the fighting on the plaza—the— ’ “‘Don’t be a fool, says O Connor, interrupting. ‘But that’s the only woman in the world for me, Bowers. The O’Connors are, as quick to love as they aro to fight. I shall wear that rose over me heart when I lead me men into action'. For a good battle to be fought there must be some woman to give it power.” “ ‘ Every time,’ I agreed. ‘lf you want to have a good, lively scrap. There’s only one thing bothering me. In the novels the light haired friend of the hero always gets killed. Think ’em all over that you’ve read, and you’ll see that I’m right. I think I’ll step down to the Botica Espanola and lay in a bottle of -walnut stain before war is declared.’ “‘How will I find out her name? says O’Connor, laying his chin in his hand. “ ‘ Why don’t you go across the street and ask her?’ says I. “ ‘ Will y© never regard anything in life seriously?’ says O’Connor, looking down at mo like a schoolmaster. “ ‘ Maybe she meant the rose for me/ 1 said, whistling the Spanish Fandango. . “For the first time since Pel known O’Connor, he laughed. _ He got up and roared and clapped his knees, and leaned against the wall till the tiles on the roof clattered to the noise of his lungs. He went intoth© back room and looked at himself in the glass and began and laughed all over from the beginning again. Then he looked at me and repeated himself. That’s why I asked you if you thought an Irishman had any humour. He’d been doing fare© comedy from the day I say him without knowing it; and the first time he had an idea: advanced to him with any intelligence in it he acted like two-twelfths of the sextet in a ‘ Florodoro ’ road company. “ The next afternoon he comes in with a triumphant smile, and begins to pull eolnething like ticker tape out of his pocket. “‘Great!’ says I. ‘This is something like home. How is Amalgamated Copper to-day?’ “‘l’ve got her name, says O Connor, and he reads off something like this: ‘ Dona Isabel Antonia Inex Lolita Carreras y Buencaminos y Mont-eleon.’ ‘She lives with her mother,’ explains O’Connor. ‘ Her father was killed in the last revolution. She is sure to be in sympathy with our cause.’ “And sure enough the next day she flung a little bunch of roses clear across the 'street into our docr._ O’Oonnor dived for it -and found a piece of paper burled around -a stem with a line in Spanish on it. He dragged the interpreter out of his -corner and got ,him busy. The interpreter scratched his head, and gave us as a translation three beat bets: ‘Fortune has got a face like the man fighting ‘ Fortune looks like a brauve man!’ and ‘Fortune favours the brave.’ We put our money on the laet one. “ ‘Do ye see?' said O’Connor. ‘ She intends to enconi ige me sword to save her country.’ “‘lt- looks to me like an invitation to supper says I. “ 8o ©very day this senorita sits behind the barred windows and exhausts a conservatory or two, on© posy at a time. And O’Connor walks like a Dominecker rooster and swells his ohestand swears to me he will win her by feats of arms and big,deeds on the gory field of battle.

‘‘By and by the revolution began to get ripe. One day O’Oonnor takes me into the back room and tells me all. “ ‘ Bowers,’ says he, ‘at twelve o’clock one week from to-day the struggle will take place. It has pleased ye to find amusement and diversion in this project, because ye have not sense enough to perceive that it is easily accomplished by a man' of courage, intelligence and historical superiority, such as meself. The whole' world over,’ says he, ‘ th© . O’Connors have ruled men, women and nations. To subdue a small and indifferent country like this is a trifle. Ye see what little, barefooted manikins the men of it are. I could lick four of ’em, single-handed.’ “‘ No doubt,’ says I. ‘ But could you lick six? And suppose they hurled an army of seventeen against you?’ “‘Listen,’ says O’Connor, ‘to what will occur. At noon next Tuesday 25,000 patriots will rise up in the towns of the republic. The Government will bo absolutely unprepared. The public buildings will be taken, the regular army made prisoners, and the new administration set up. In the capital it will not bo so easy, on account of most of the army being stationed there. They will occupy the president’s palace and th© strongly fortified government buildings and stand a siege. But on the very day of the outbreak a body of our troops will begin a march to the capital from- every town as scon as the local victory has been won. The thing is so well planned that it is an imeosiribility for us to fail. I meself will lead the troops from here. The new president will be Senor Espadas, now Minister of Finance in the present Cabinet.’

“ ‘ What do you get?’ I asked. “ ‘ ’Twill be strange,’ said O’Connor, smiling, ‘if 1 don’t- have all the jobs handed to me on a silver salver to pick what I choose. I’ve been the brains of the scheme, and when the fighting opens I guess I won’t be in the roar rank. Who managed it so- our troops

could get arms smuggled into this country? Didn’t I arrange it with a Now York firm before 1 left there? Our financial agents inform me that stands of Winchester rifles have been delivered a month ago at a secret place up coast and distributed among the towns. I tell‘you, Bowers, the- gam© is 'already won.’ “Well, that kind of talk kind of shook my disbelief in the infallibility of th© serious Irish gentlemen soldier of fortune. It certainly seemed that the patriotic grafters had gone about the thing in a business way. I looked upon O’Connor with more respect, and began to figure on what kind of uniform I might wear as Secretary of War. “Tuesday, the day set for the revolution, cam© around according to schedule. O’Connor said that a signal had been agreed upon for the uprising. There was an old cannon on the beach near the national warehouse. That bad been secretly loaded, arid promptly at twelve o’clock -was to be fired off. Immediately the revolutionists would seize their concealed arms, attack the oommandaute’s troops in the cuartel, and capture the customhouse and all government property and supplies. “ I was nervous all the morning. And about eleven o’clock O’Connor became infused with the excitement- and martial spirit of murder. Ho geared his father’s sword around him, and walked up and down in the back room like a lion in tb-e Zoo suffering from corns. I emoked a couple of dozen cigars, and decided on yellow stripes down the trousers legs of my uniform.' “ At half-past eleven O’Connor asks me to- take a short" stroll through the street® to see if I could notice .any s igns of the uprising. I was back in fifteen minutes.

“ ‘ Did you hear anything?’ lie asks. “‘ I did,’ eayis T. ‘At first I thought it was drums. But it wasn’t; it was snoring. Everybody in, town’s asleep.’ “ O’Co-nn-nr tear© out his. watch.

“ ‘ Fools!’ says he. ‘ They’ve set the time right at the siesta hour when everybody takes a® nap. But the cannon: will wake ’em up. Everything will be all right, depend upon it.’ “ Just- at twelve o’clock w© heard the sound of a cannon—BOOM —shaking the whole town. “ O’C-ounor loosens his sword in its scabbard and jumps for the door. I went as far as the door and stood in it. _ . “People were sticking their heads out of -doors and windows. But there was one grand sight that mad© th© landscape look tame. “ General Tumbalo, the commandante, was rolling down the steps of his residential dug-out, waving a five-foot sabre in his Land.- He wore his cooked and plumed hat and his dress-parade coat covered with gold braid and buttons. Sky-blue pyjamas, one rubber boot, and one red-plush slipper completed his make-up. .v “ Th© general had heard the cannon, and he puffed down, the sidewalk toward the soldiers’ barracks as fast as hie rudely' awa-kejicd two hundred pounds could travel._ “ O’Connor sees him and lets out a battle-cry, and draws his father’s sword and rushes across the street and tackles the enemy. “ Eight there in the street he and the general gave, an exhibition of blacksmithing and butchery' that put Kyrle Bellew and Phil Armour in the shade. Sparks flew from their blades, the general roared, and O’Ccnnor gave the slogan of his race and proclivities. “ Then the general’s sabre broke in two: and he took to his ginger-ooloured heels crying out ‘ Policies ’ at every jump. O’Connor chased him a block, imbued with the sentiment of manslaughter, and slicing buttons off the general’s coat tails with the paternal weapon. At the corner five barefooted policemen in cotton ■ undershirts and straw hate climbed over O’Connor and subjugated him according to the municipal statutes. “ They brought him past the late re-volutionary-headquarters on the way to jail. I stood in the door. A policeman had him by each hand and foot-, and they dragged him on his back through the grass like a turtle. Twice they stopped, .and the odd policeman took another! s place while he rolled a- cigarette. The great soldier of fortune turned his head and looked at me as they passed. I blushed, and lit another.cigar. The procession passed on. and at ten minutes past twelve'everybody had gone back to sleep again. “In the afternoon' the 'interpreter came around, and smiled as he laid his hand on the big re-d jar we usually kept ioe-water in. “‘The ice man didn’t call to-day,’ says I. ‘ What’s the matter with everything, Sanoho?’ “ ‘ Ah, yes,’ says the liver-coloured linguist. ‘ They just tell me i» the town. Verree bad act that Senor O’Connor made fight with General Tumbola great soldier and big, mans.’ “ ‘ What’ll they do to Mr O’Connor?’ I asks."

“ ‘I talk little while presently with the Jues de la Paz—what you call Jus ■ tieo-v.'lth-t-he-peaoe,’ says Sanoho. ‘He -tell me it verree bad crime that one senor Americano try kill General Tumbola. He say they keep Senor O’Connor in gaol six month; then have trial land shoot him with guns. Verree■ sorree.’

“‘How about this revolution that was to be pulled off?’ I asks. “ ‘ Oh,’ says this Sancho, ‘ I think too hot weather for revolution. Revolution better in winter-time. Maybe eo next winter. Quien sab©?’ “ ‘ But the cannot went off?’ says I. ‘ The signal was given.’ “‘That big signal?’ says Sancho, grinning. ‘ The boiler in ice factory he blow up —BOOM ! Wake everybody up from siesta. Verree sbr-ree. No ice. Muoho hot day.’ “About sunset I went over to th© gaol, and they lot me talk to O’Connor through the bars. “ ‘ What’s the news, Bowers?’ says he. ‘ Have wo taken the town? I’ve been expecting a rescue party all the afternoon. I haven’t heard any firing. Has any word been received from the capital!?’ “‘Take it easy, Barney,’ says I. ‘ 1 think there’s been a change of plans. There’s something more important to talk about. Have you any money?’ “‘ I have not,’ says O’Connor. ‘ The last dbllar went to pay cur hotel bill yesterday. Did our troops capture the Customhouse? There ought to be plenty of Government riioney there.’ , “ ‘Segregate your mind from battles,’ says I. ‘ I’ve been making inquiries. You’re to be shot six months from date for assault and battery. I’m expecting to receive fifty years at hard labour for vagrancy. All they furnish you while you’re a prisoner is water. You depend on your friends for food.. I’ll see what I can do.’

“I went away and found a silver Chile dollar in an old vest of O’Connor’s. I took him some fried fish and rice for his supper. In the morning I went down to a lagoon and had a drink of - water, and then went back to the gaol. O’Connor had a porterhousesteak look in. his eve.

.“‘Barney,’ says I, ‘l’ve found a pond: full of the finest kind of water. It’s 'the grandest, sweetest,' purest water in the world. Say the word and I’ll go fetch you a bucket of it, and you can throw this vile Government stuff out- the window. I’ll do anything I can for a friend.’

“ ‘ Has it come to this?’ says O’Connor, raging up and down his cell. ‘ Am I to be starved to death and then shot? I’ll make those traitors fed the weight of an O’Conn-or’s hand when I get out | of this.’ And t-hon he wines to the , bars anil speaks softer. ‘ Has nothing been heard from Dona Isabel?’ bo asks. ‘ Though everyone else in the world fail,’ says he. ‘ I trust these eyes of hers. She will find a way to effect , me release. Do ye think ye could com- * muiuoato with her? One word from

her—even a rose would make me sorrows light. But don’t let her know except with the utmost delicacy, Bowers. These high-bred Castilians are sensitive and proud.’ “‘Well said, Barney,’ says I. ‘You’ve given me an idea. I’ll report later. Something’s got to bo pulled off quick, or we’ll both starve.’ “I walked out and down to Hooligan Alley, and then on the other side of the street. As I went _ past the window of Dona Isabel Antonia Concha Regalia out flies the rose as usual, and hits me on the ear. ( “The door was open, and J took off my hat and walked) in!. It wasn’t very light inside, but there she sat in a rocking-chair by the window, smoking a black cheroot. And when I got closer I saw that she was about thirtynine, and had never seen a straight front in her life. I sat down on the arm of her chair and took the cheroot out of her mouth and stole a kiss. “ ‘Hullo, Izzy,’ I says. ‘Excuse my unconveutionality, hut I feel like I have known you for a month. Whose Izzy is oo?’ “The lady ducked her head under, her mantilla and drew in a long breath. I thought she was going to scream, but with all. that intake of air she only came out with, ‘ Mo like© Americanos.’ “ As soon as she said that I knew that O’Connor and me would be doing things with a knife and fork before the day was over. I drew a chair beside her, and inside of half an hour wo were engaged. Then I took my hat and said I must go out for a while. “‘You com© back?’ says Izzy, in alarm. “ ‘ Me go bring preacher,’ says I. ‘Com© l back twenty minutes. We marry now. How you like-©?’ “‘Marry to-day P’ says Izzy. ‘ Good!’ “I went down on the beach to the United States Consul’s shack. He was a grizzly roan, eighty-two pounds, smoked-glasses, five_ foot eleven, pickled. He was playing chess with an india-rubber man in_ white clothes. “ ‘ Excuse me for interrupting,’ says J, ‘ but) can you tell mo bow a man could get married quick?’ . . . “The Consul gets up and fingers in a pigeonhole. “ ‘ I believe 1 had a license to perform the ceremony myself, • a year or two ago,’ he said. ‘ I’ll look, and“l caught hold,of hia arm. “ ‘ Don’t look it up,’ says I. ‘ Marriage is a lottery, anyway. I’m willing to take the risk about the license if you are.’ “The Consul • went back to Hooligan Alloy with me. Izzy called her ma to come in, but the old lady was picking a chicken in the patio, and begged to bo excused. So we stood up, and the Consul performed the ceremony. . 1 “That evening Mrs Bowers cooked a great supper of stewed goat, tamales, baked bananas, fricasseed red peppers, and coffee. Afterward I • sat in the rocking-ohair by'the front window and she sat on the, floor, plunking at a. guitar and happv, as she should be, as Mrs William T.B. “ All at once I sprang up in a hurry. I’d forgotten all about O’Oonnor. I asked Izzy to fix up a lot of truck for him to eat. _ “ ‘That big, oogly man?’ says Izzy. ‘But all right—he your friend.’, _ “I pulled a rose out- of e bunch'in a jar, -and took the grub-basket around to the gaol. O’Connor ate like a wolf. Then he wiped his face with a, banana peel and said, ‘ Have yon heard nothing from Dona Isabel yet?’ “‘Hist!’ says I, slipping the rose between the bars. ‘ She sends you this. She bids you take courage. At nightfall two masked men brought it to the ruined chateau in th© orange frove. How did you like that goat ash, Barney?’ “ O’Connor pressed the rose to his lips. ■ , „ “ ‘This is more to me than all the food in the world,’ says he. ‘ But the supper was fine. Where did you raise it P’ “ ‘l’ve negotiated a stand-off at a delicatessen hut down town,’ I tells him. ‘ Rest easy. If there’s anything to he done I’ll do it.’ “So things went along that way for seme weeks. Izzy was -a great cook; and if she had had a little more poise of character and smoked a little bettor brand of tobacco w© might have drifted into- some sense of responsibility for the honour I’d conferred on her. Bat as time went- on I began to hunger for the sight of a real lady standing before me in a street-car. All I was staying in that land of bilk and money for was because I couldn’t get away,' -and i thought it no more than decent to stay and see O’Connor shot. “ One day our old interpreter drops around, and after smoking -an hour says that the judge of the peace sent him to -request me to call on him. I went to. his office, in a lemon grove on a hill at the edge of the town ; and there I had a surprise-. I expected to see one of the usual cinnamon-coloured natives in congress gaiters and one of Pizarro’s cast-off hats. What I saw was an elegant gentleman of a slightly clay-bank complexion, sitting'in an upholstered leather chair, sipping a highball and reading Mrs Humphrey Ward. I had smuggled into my brain a few words of Spanish by the help of Izzy, and I began to remark in a rich Andalusian broque:— “ ‘ Buenas diaa, senor. Yo tengo—• yo tengo ’ “‘Oil, sit down, Mr Bowers, says he. ‘I spent eight years in your country, in colleges and law schools. Let me mix yen a. highball. Lemon peel, or not?’ “ Thus we got along. In about half an/hour I was beginning to tell him about the scandal in our family, when Aunt Elvira ran away witli a Cumberland Presbyterian preacher. Then ho says to me: “ ‘ I sent tor you, Mr Bowers, to let you know that you can have your

friend, Mr O’Connor, now. Of course wo had to make a show of punishing him on account of his attack on General Tumhalo. It is arranged that ho shall be released to-morrow night. You and he will be conveyed on board the frnit steamer Voyager, bound for New York, which lies in the harbour. Your passage will be arranged for.’ “‘One moment, judge,’ says I; ‘ that revolution ’ “The judge lays back in his chair and howls. “‘Why,’ says he. presently, ‘that was all a little joke fixed up by the boys around the court-room, and one or "two of our cut-ups, and a few clerks in the stores. The town is bursting its sides and laughing. The boys made themselves up to bo conspirators, and they—what you call it?—stick Senor O’Connor for Iris money. It is very funny ’ “‘ lb was,’ says I. ‘ I saw the joke all along. I’ll take another highball, if your Honor don’t mind.’ “The next evening, just at dark, a couple of soldiers brought O’Connor down to the beach where I was waiting under a cocpanut tree. “‘Histl’ says I in his ear; ‘Dona Isabel has arranged our escape. Not a word! ’ “They rowed us in a boat out to a little steamer that smelled of table d’hote salad oil and bene phosphate. “ The great mellow, tropical moon was rising as wo steamed away. O’Connor leaned on the taffrail, or rear balcony of the ship and gazed silently at Guaya—at Buncoville-on-the-Beach. He had the red rose in his hand. “ ‘ She will wait,’ I heard him say. ‘ Eyes like hers never deceive. But I' shall see her again. Traitors cannot keep an O’Conner down for ever.’ “‘You talk iike a sequel,’ says I. ‘ But in Volutoo 11. please omit the light-haired friend who totes the grub to the hero in his dungeon cell.’ “ And thus reminiscing we cam© back to New York.” There was a little silence, broken only by the familiar roar of the streets after Kansas Bill Bowers ceased talking- “ Did O’Connor ever go back?” I asked. 1 “He attained his heart’s desire,” said-Bill- “Can you walk two blocks? I’ll .show you. „ . • He led me eastward and down a flight of stairs that was covered by a curiousshaped, glowing, pagoda-like structure. Signs and figures on the tiled walls and supporting columns' attested that we were in the Grand Central station of the-subway. Hundreds of people were on the midway platform. ■ - ; An-up-town express dashed up and halted. • It was crowded.- There was a rush for it by a still larger crowd. ' Towering above everyone there a magnificent,- broad-shouldered, athletic man leaped into the centre of the struggle. Men and women he seized •' in either hand and hurled them like manikins toward the open gates ■of the train. • _ Now and then some passenger, with a shred of soul and self-respect left’to him, turned to offer remonstrance; but the bln© uniform on the towering figure, the fierce and conquering glare of his. eye, and the ready impftet of his ham-like hands glued together the lips that would have spoken complaint. When the train was full, then he ex-hibited-to all.'who might observe -and admire his irresistible genius as a ruler of men. With his knee®, with his elbows, with, his shoulders, with his resistless feet, he shoved, crushed, slammed, heaved, kicked, flung, pounded the overplus - of passengers aboard. Then, .with the sounds of its wheels drowned by the moans, shrieks, prayers and curses of its unfortunate crew, the express dashed away. “That’s him. Ain’t he a wonder?” said Kansas Bill admiringly. “That tropical country wasn’t the place for him. I wish the distinguished traveller, writer, war correspondent and , playwright, Richmond Hobson Davis, could see. Him now. O’Connor ought to be dramatised.”