The ship was slowly drawing away. The young man stretched out one arm as though to detain her, and danced frantically along the stringhead.
“How dare you!” he cried. “I’m a commission merchant. I deal in whatever I please--and I’m the American Consul!”
The Captain laughed, and with a wave of his hand in farewell backed away from the rail.
“That may be,” he shouted, “but this line isn’t carrying freight for General Laguerre, nor for you, neither.” He returned and made a speaking trumpet of his hands. “Tell him from me,” he shouted, mockingly, “that if he wants his sewing-machines he’d better go North and steal ‘em. Same as he stole our Nancy Miller.”
The young man shook both his fists in helpless anger.
“You damned banana trader,” he shrieked, “you’ll lose your license for this. I’ll fix you for this. I’ll dirty your card for you, you pirate!”
The Captain flung himself far over the rail. He did not need a speaking trumpet now--his voice would have carried above the tumult of a hurricane.
“You’ll what?” he roared. “You’ll dirty my card, you thieving filibuster? Do you know what I’ll do to you? I’ll have your tin sign taken away from you, before I touch this port again. You’ll see--you--you--” he ended impotently for lack of epithets, but continued in eloquent pantomime to wave his arms.
With an oath the young man recognized defeat, and shrugged his shoulders.
“Oh, you go to the devil,” he shouted, and turned away. He saw me observing him, and as I was the only person present who looked as though he understood English, he grinned at me sheepishly, and nodded.
“I don’t care for him,” he said. “He can’t frighten me.”
I considered this as equivalent to an introduction.
“You are the United States Consul?” I asked. The young man nodded briskly.
“Dobbs Ferry, near New York,” I answered. “I’d---I’d like to have a talk with you, when you are not busy.”
“That’s all right,” he said. “I’m not busy now. That bumboat pirate queered the only business I had. Where are you going to stop? There is only one place,” he explained; “that’s Pulido’s. He’ll knife you if he thinks you have five dollars in your belt, and the bar-room is half under water anyway. Or you can take a cot in my shack, if you like, and I’ll board and lodge you for two pesos a day--that’s one dollar in our money. And if you are going up country,” he went on, “I can fit you out with mules and mozos and everything you want, from canned meats to an escort of soldiers. You’re sure to be robbed anyway,” he urged, pleasantly, “and you might as well give the job to a fellow-countryman. I’d hate to have one of these greasers get it.”
