by Rex Beach
VI
IN WHICH KIRK ANTHONY IS GREATLY SURPRISED
When Kirk came on deck early the following morning, he found the SantaCruz nosing her way into Colony harbor. A land fog obscured his viewsomewhat, but through it he beheld a low, irregular line of mountainsin the background, and close at hand a town. The ship came to anchorabreast of a point upon which he descried a squat little spider-leggedlighthouse and long rows of frame dwellings half hidden behind slenderpalm-trees. Beyond were warehouses and docks and the funnels of manyships; on either side of the bay was a dense tropic wilderness. As thesun dissipated the morning haze, he saw that the hills were matted witha marvellous vivid green. There were no clearings on the slopes, noopen spaces dotted with farm-houses or herds, the jungle flowed down tothe 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 madehis rounds requesting the passengers to assemble for medicalexamination.
Kirk found the Cortlandts ahead of him.
"What's coming off?" he inquired.
"Vaccination," Cortlandt explained, briefly. "They are very particularabout disease."
His wife added: "This used to be the worst fever-spot in the world, youknow. When we were here five years ago, we saw car-loads of dead peoplenearly every day. A funeral train was a familiar sight."
"What a pleasant place to spend my vacation!" exclaimed Kirk. "Now if Ican 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, heexplained his desire to the purser, that worthy replied:
"I'm sorry, but you'll have to arrange that with the agent. We make acharge, 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! Doyou want to know what I think of you, Mr.--Anthony Locke?"
"I haven't any special yearnings in that direction, but--what do youthink 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 mysleeping aboard the Santa Cruz?"
"If you want to stay aboard, you'll have to pay in advance. You're notso foolish as you try to make out."
"Those are glorious words of praise," Kirk acknowledged, "but I'll makea bet with you."
"What?"
"That you change your mind. I am just as foolish as I appear, and I'llprove 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 youcan 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 andtake your belongings with me."
By this time the ship was being warped into her berth, and the dock wascrowded. There were little brown customs inspectors in khaki, littlebrown policemen in blue, little brown merchants in white, and hugeblack Jamaicans in all colors of rags. Here and there moved a bronzed,businesslike American, and Anthony noticed that for the most part thesewere clean-cut, aggressive-looking young fellows.
He was delayed but an instant by the customs officials, then made hisway out through a barnlike structure to the street, reflecting that,after all, there are advantages in travelling light. He came into ablazing-hot, glaring white street jammed with all sorts of vehicles,the drivers of which seemed perpetually upon the point of riot. Beforehim stretched a shadeless brick pavement, with a railroad track on oneside, and on the other a line of naked frame buildings hideous in theirsameness. The sun beat down fiercely. Kirk mopped his face with thepurser's handkerchief and wondered if this were really December.
Clumsy two-wheeled carts came bumping past, some with prehensile-footednegroes perched upon them, others driven by turban-crowned Hindoos. Afleet of dilapidated surreys and coaches, each equipped with a musicalchime and drawn by a flea-bitten, ratlike horse, thronged the square.Kirk noticed with amusement that the steeds were of stronger mentalitythan the drivers, judging from the way they dominated the place,kicking, biting squealing, ramming one another, locking wheels andblocking traffic, the while their futile owners merely jerked the reinsafter the fashion of a street-car conductor ringing up fares, or sworesoftly in Spanish. Silent-footed coolies drifted past, sullen-facednegroes jostled him, stately Martinique women stalked through theconfusion with queenly dignity. These last were especially qualified totake the stranger's eye, being tall and slender and wearing gaudyhead-dresses, the tips of which stood up like rabbits' ears. Unlike thefat and noisy Jamaicans, they were neat and clean, their skirtssnow-white and stiffly starched, and they held themselves as proudlyerect as if pacing a stage.
The indescribable confusion of races reminded the young American of aRed Sea port where the myriad peoples of the far East intermingle. Heheard a dozen different dialects; even the negroes used an accent thatwas difficult to understand. One thing only struck a familiar note, andthat with peculiar force and sharpness. Down the railroad track towardhim came a locomotive with the letters "P. R. R." upon it, at which hesaid aloud:
"Hurrah, I'm in Jersey City! I'll take the Twenty-third Street Ferryand be at the Astor in no time."
He made his way slowly through the turmoil to the cable office, wherehe 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 beback later." Then he wandered forth again, bearing his bundle of shirtsbeneath his arm. He thought of appealing to the Cortlandts before theyleft for Panama City, but could not bring himself to ask a favor fromthat slim, agate-eyed man for whom he felt such an instinctivedistaste. Instead, he resolved to enlist the services of the Americanconsul.
He began to feel the heat now, and his borrowed collar drooped, but ashe neared the seaward side of town there was a remarkabletransformation. A delightful, cooling breeze swept in from the ocean,and, when he finally came out upon a palm-guarded road along thebreakers, he paused in silent enjoyment. The trade-winds were drawinginward as steadily as if forced by a great electric fan, piling thegreen waters upon the rocks in a ceaseless, soothing murmur, making thepalm fronds overhead rustle like the silken skirts of an aerial ballet.The effect was wonderful, for, while the air was balmy and soft, it wasalso deliciously refreshing and seemed to have magic properties.
After some further wandering, he found the consul's house and knockedat the door, whereupon a high-pitched, querulous voice from insidecried:
"Come in. Dammit, don't stand there hammering!"
Kirk entered to find a huge, globular man clad in soiled linenssprawled in a musty Morris chair and sipping a highball. The man's faceand neck were of a purplish, apoplectic hue; he seemed to radiateheat-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 handwithout rising. When Kirk had grasped it he felt like wiping his ownpalm. "Have a seat." The speaker indicated a broken-backed rockerencumbered with damp clothes, newspapers, and books. "Just dump thatrubbish on the floor; it don't matter where." Then he piped at the topof 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 allabout the floor were scattered documents where the wind had blown them.Shoes and articles of clothing were piled in the corners; there was nota sound piece of furniture in the place, and through an open doorleading to another room at the rear could be seen a cheap iron bed,sagging hammock-like, its head and foot posts slanting like tepeepoles, doubtless from the weight of its owner.
In answer to Mr. Weeks's shout a slatternly negress with draggingskirts and overrun shoes entered, carrying a washbowl partly filledwith ice.
"Just get in, Mr. Anthony?"
"Yes, sir, on the Santa. Cruz."
"Fine ship." Mr. Weeks rose ponderously and wiped out a glass with abath towel, while Kirk noticed that two damp half-moons had comethrough his stiffly starched linen trousers where his dripping kneeshad pressed. He walked with a peculiar, springy roll, as if pads of fathad grown between his joints, and, once an impulse had been given hismassive frame, it required time in which to become effective. The soundof his breathing was plainly audible as he prepared his guest'sbeverage.
"You'll like that," he predicted. "There's one good thing we get inColon, 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 ofa baby. As he rolled back toward the Morris chair, his stomach surgedup and down as if about to break from its moorings.
"I came in to ask a favor," Anthony announced, "I suppose every touristdoes the same."
"That's part of a consul's duty," Mr. Weeks panted, while his softcheeks 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 shakeponderously.
"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 aknockout and shipped me off on the Santa Cruz. The wireless wasn'tworking, we didn't stop at Jamaica, so this is my first chance to getword home."
"What do you wish me to do?"
"Cable for me and see that I have a place to stop until I get ananswer."
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 nameagain? Anthony? I'm a poor man and I've been an easy mark for everytropical tramp from Vera Cruz to Guayaquil. Your father may not be ableto 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 differentemotion. "Certainly."
"Well, he's the goat."
Slowly, grandly, the American consul set his frame in motion, whereatKirk said, quickly, "Don't get up; I understand." But Mr. Weeks hadgone too far to check himself, so he lurched resiliently into anupright position, then across the floor, and, reaching out past hisundulating 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 folkslike you. Darwin K. Anthony! Well, RATHER."
"Thanks." The young man wiped his hand surreptitiously. "If you willfix it so I can cable him and sleep aboard the ship, I'll be greatlyobliged."
"Nothing of the sort," Mr. Weeks blew through his wet lips. "I'll cablehim myself and you'll stay right here as my guest. Delighted to havethe 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 aswell as not."
"I couldn't hear to such a thing. You're tired of ship life--everybodyis--and I have lots of room--too much room. It's a pleasure to meetreal 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 apudgy forefinger he stripped his purple brow of a row of glisteningsweat-drops. "I'll have Zeelah fix up a bed where this glorious breezewill play on you. Mr. Anthony, that trade-wind blows just like that allthe time--never dies down--it's the only thing that makes life bearablehere--that and the whiskey. Have another highball?"
"No, I thank you."
"Darwin--Say, I'll send a cart for your baggage, right now."
"I have it with me--six shirts, all guilty."
"Then I'll send your father a message this minute. I'm delighted at theprivilege of being the first to advise him of your safety and torelieve his mental anguish." Mr. Weeks rocked toward the desk, adjusteda chair behind him, spread his legs apart, and sat down sidewise sothat he could reach the inkwell. He overhung his chair so generouslythat from the front he appeared to be perched precariously upon itsedge or to be holding some one in his lap. "Where are those cableblanks!" he cried, irritably, stirring up the confusion in front of him.
"Here they are." Anthony picked one up from the floor.
"It's that damn wind again. I can't keep anything in place unless I siton it. That's the trouble with this country--there's always a breezeblowing. Thanks! I'm getting a trifle heavy to stoop--makes me dizzy."
In a moment he read what he had written:
DARWIN K. ANTHONY, Albany, New York.
Your son well and safe. Here as my guest. Asks you cable him money forreturn. WEEKS, American Consul.
"That tells the story. It'll please him to know I'm looking after you,my boy."
"You are very kind."
"Don't speak of it. I'm glad to get in touch with your father. We needcapital in this country."
"He's a hard man in money matters," said Darwin K. Anthony's son. "Ibelieve I enjoy the distinction of being the only person who ever madehim loosen."
"All successful men are cautious," Weeks declared. "But if he knew thewonderful opportunities this country presents--" The speaker leanedforward, while his chair creaked dangerously, and said, withimpressiveness, "My dear sir, do you realize that a cocoa palm after itis seven years old drops a nut worth five cents every day in the yearand requires no care whatever except to gather the fruit?"
"No."
"Fact! And we grow the best ones in the world right here. But thedemand is increasing so rapidly that in ten years there will be afamine. Think of it--a famine of cocoanuts!" Mr. Weeks paused to lenddramatic effect.
"That's fierce," Kirk acknowledged. "What are they good for?"
"Eating! People make cakes out of them, and oil, and candy. Goodcocoanut land can be bought for fifty cents an acre, selected seeds forfive cents each, labor is sixty cents a day. No frosts, no worms, nobugs. You sit still and they drop in your lap."
"The bugs?"
"No! No! The cocoanuts."
"Fine!"
"But that's nothing. Do you realize that this soil will raisesugar-cane the size of your--of my--thigh, and once you plant it youcan't keep it cut out?"
"It's all news to me."
"You can buy sugar-cane land for a dollar an acre; it costs--"
"I'm no good at figures, Mr. Weeks."
"And rubber! THERE'S the chance for a man with capital. Rubber!"
"I will--I mean, is that so?"
"Ever see any rubber-trees?"
"Only in Brooklyn."
"I mean wild rubber. This country is full of it; the natives bring itin. All you have to do is buy timber land--you can get it for asong--plant your rubber-seed, and let 'er go, Gallagher! In ten yearsyou go back
, cut off your timber, sell it for enough to make you rich,and there is your rubber--velvet!" he concluded, triumphantly.
"Rubber velvet?"
"Yes. It's 'velvet'--all clear. You can't lose. My boy, there's athousand ways to get rich down here, and I know 'em all. What I need iscapital. If I had your father's backing--Say! It's a mighty good thingyou came to see me. I can do your old man a lot of good. I'mconservative, I am, and what he needs is a good, conservative man tomanage his investments. Why, talk about quick money"--the speakerthrust forth a finger that looked like a peeled banana--"I've got agold-mine--"
"Not a bit like it." Kirk shook his head. "They don't behave."
"This one will. It's an old Spanish mine and hasn't been worked forthree centuries. It's rich, RICH! I'll take you in as my partner, andwe'll get your father to open it up. What do you say? If he doesn'tlike that, we'll get him a street-railway franchise; I'm close to thegovernment, and there isn't a steel rail in any city of the republic. Iknow all the Spiggoty politicians."
"The what?"
"The Spiggoties! That's what we call the Panamanians. They 'no spiggotyEnglish'; understand?"
"It's a funny name."
"Now, my boy, there's one thing I want you to be careful of. Don't letsome of these fellows around here get you excited. This country is fullof promoters, cheap skates, and that sort, and they'll try to stampedeyou into some investment. You trust to me; I'm conservative. I'll putyou up at the club, and when you get straightened around we'll talkbusiness. Meanwhile, I'll send this cable."
Mr. Weeks was even better than his word. He took Kirk with him, andwent heaving down the street, his body quivering at every step as ifhung upon a whalebone framework, the breath wheezing noisily in and outof his chest, the perspiration streaming from his purple face inrivulets. He put up his guest at the club and invited some of hisfriends to join them for dinner that evening on the wide balcony; then,noting Anthony's heavy clothing, he said:
"You need some linens, Kirk. That suit looks like a dog bed. You don'tmind my calling you Kirk, do you?"
"I'm flattered. However, I can't get ready-made clothes large enough,and, besides, it's hardly worth while for the length of time--"
"Nonsense. Now you're here we won't let you go right back. There's aChinese tailor on Bottle Alley who'll have you a suit to measure bynoon to-morrow, and he only charges seven dollars, goods and all."
Accordingly, the two journeyed to Bottle Alley and selected some linen,whereupon, instead of one suit, the consul ordered three, having themcharged to his account.
Kirk really enjoyed that evening at the Wayfarers Club, for, once thecool of evening had come, the place filled up rapidly with as fine acrowd of men as he had ever met. There were young fellows from therailroad offices, merchants from the town, engineers from the big job,the proximity of which made itself felt like a mysterious presence.There was a trader from down the San Blas coast; a benevolent,white-haired judge, with a fund of excellent stories; a lieutenant inthe Zone Police who impressed Kirk as a real Remington trooper come tolife; and many another. They all welcomed the Yale man with thatfreedom which one finds only on the frontier, and as he listened tothem he began to gain some idea of the tremendous task that occupiedtheir minds. They were all men with work to do; there were no idlers;there was no class distinction. One topic of conversation prevailed,and, although the talk drifted away from it at times, it invariablycame back to The Job in the end.
Weeks did himself credit as a host. His table, spread on the latticedbalcony where the never-failing trade-winds fanned it, was decoratedtastefully with flowers, red-shaded candles, white linen, and gleamingsilver gave it a metropolitan air. Both the food and the wine were wellserved, and the consul's half-dozen guests soon became mellowed andfriendly. Kirk felt he had fallen among kindred spirits, for it wasalmost like a fraternity dinner.
When finally they arose, some one proposed a game of draw poker andinsisted upon Kirk's joining. He was about to refuse when Weeks drewhim aside to say:
"Don't let the money question stand in your way, Kirk. You're my guest,and your I.O.U. is as good as a government bond; so go as far as youlike."
A considerable portion of Anthony's time in college had been devoted toa course in draw poker--recitations, so to speak, being conducted inthe upper rooms of a Greek letter "frat," and he cherished the beliefthat he had at least learned to distinguish a spade flush from an"Arkansas blaze." But he soon found that these men had forgotten moreabout the game than he could ever hope to learn at any university, andwhen the crowd broke up at midnight he signed his name to a tab forforty dollars.
Early the next day the following cablegram was left at the AmericanConsulate:
WEEKS, Consul, Colon.
Anthony absent, returns Friday. COPLEY.
"Copley is the Governor's secretary," Kirk explained. "That means thatI'll miss the Santa Cruz and have to wait another week."
"I'm delighted," the consul said, heartily.
"Perhaps you could stake me to a ticket. I'll remit when I get to NewYork."
"My pay isn't due for a fortnight," Weeks explained after an instant'shesitation. "You see, I'm interested in so many ventures it keepsme--well, broke. Anyhow, you can't go until we have arranged aninvestment for your father."
Kirk could not help thinking that a man of the consul's wideacquaintance and business capacity could have raised the necessaryfunds without much trouble; but, not wishing to embarrass his host, herefrained from pressing the matter, and resigned himself as best hecould to an extension of his exile. Meanwhile, he decided to visit theCanal, for on every side he heard nothing but echoes of the great work,and he began to feel that he owed it to himself to view it. But hisplans were upset by the weather. On the following day it began to rain,and it continued to rain day and night thereafter until Colon became asodden, dripping horror. The soil melted into a quagmire, the streetsbecame sluices, the heavens closed down like a leaden pall, and thevery air became saturated. It was hot also, and sticky. Indoors a mouldbegan to form, rust grew like a fungus; outdoors the waving palm topsspilled a deluge upon roof and sidewalk at every gust; their trunksstreamed like hydrants.
Kirk had never seen such a rain; it kept up hour after hour, day afterday, until the monotony became maddening. The instant he stepped outfrom shelter he was drenched, and even in his rooms he could discoverno means of drying his clothes. His garments, hanging beside his bed atnight, were clammy and overlaid with moisture in the morning. Thingsbegan to smell musty; leather objects grew long, hoary whiskers ofgreen mould. To his amazement, the inhabitants seemed quite obliviousto the change, however, and, while they agreed that the weather was atrifle misty, they pursued their duties as usual, assuring him that therain might continue for a month.
It was too much for Kirk, however, and he deferred his trip over the"Line," spending his time instead at the Wayfarers Club. In hisdaylight hours he listened to Weeks's unending dissertations upon theriches of the tropics; at night he played poker with such uniform badluck that his opponents developed for him an increasing affection.
But all things have an end, and Friday morning broke clear and hot.
"We'll hear from the old gentleman to-day, sure," he told Weeks atbreakfast. "He's regularity itself. The train despatchers set theirwatches by him."
"Now that it has cleared off, we must look into the cocoanut business,"the consul announced. "I'll make you a rich man, Kirk."
"I'm rich, anyhow, or I will be. Money doesn't mean much to me."
"Your father is--many times a millionaire, isn't he?" Weeks' little redeyes were very bright and curious. Kirk had seen that look many timesbefore and knew its meaning. Hence he replied rather brusquely:
"So I believe." And a moment later declared his determination to availhimself of the good weather and see something of the town. The prospectof squaring his account with this fawning fat man filled him withrelief, and once away from the Consulate he stayed until late in theafternoon. It was nearly dark when he
strolled in, to inquire:
"Well, did you get an answer?"
"Yes." Weeks fumbled excitedly through the papers on his desk.
"How much did he send?
"Here's the message; read it yourself."
Kirk read as follows:
WEEKS, Consul, Colon.
Your guest an impostor. Have no son. ANTHONY.
"Well, I'll be damned!" he ejaculated. "This is a joke!"
Weeks was beginning to pant. "A joke, hey? I suppose it was a joke toimpose on me?"
"Don't you believe I'm Kirk Anthony?"
"No, I do not. I just discovered to-day that your name is JeffersonLocke. Stein told me."
Anthony laughed lightly.
"Oh, laugh, if you want to. You're a smooth article with your talkabout football and automobiles and millionaire fathers, but youhappened to select the wrong millionaire for a father this time, andI'm going to give you a taste of our Spiggoty jails."
"You can't arrest me. You offered to take me in."
The fat man grew redder than ever; he seemed upon the point ofexploding; his whole body shook and quivered as if a head of steam weresteadily gathering inside him.
"You can't get out of it that way," he cried at the top of his littlevoice. "I've fed you for a week. I put you up at my club. That verysuit of clothes you have on is mine."
"Well, don't burst a seam over the matter. My Governor doesn't know thefacts. I'll cable him myself this time."
"And live off me for another week, I suppose? Not if I know it! He sayshe has no son; isn't that enough?"
"He doesn't understand."
"And how about those gambling debts?" chattered the mountain of flesh."You thought you'd fool me for a week, while you won enough money frommy friends to get away. Now I'LL have to pay them. Oh, I'll fix you!"
"You go slow about having me pinched," Kirk said, darkly, "or I'll makeyou jump through a hoop. I'll pay my debts."
"You're a rich man, eh? Money doesn't mean much to you, hey?" mockedthe infuriated Consul. "I suppose this is an old game of yours. Well,you stuck me all right, because you knew I couldn't have youarrested--I'd be a laughing-stock forever. But I've had your cardcancelled, and I've left word for the waiters to throw you out if youshow up at the Wayfarers."
"Will you lend me enough money to cable again?" asked Anthony, with aneffort.
"More money? NO!" fairly screamed the other. "You get out of my house,Mr. 'Kirk Anthony,' and don't you show yourself around here again. I'llkeep the rest of your wardrobe."
His erstwhile guest underwent an abrupt reversal of emotion. To theindignant amazement of Mr. Weeks, he burst into a genuine laugh, saying:
"All right, landlord, keep my baggage. I believe that's the custom,but--Oh, gee! This IS funny." He was still laughing when he reached thepublic square, for at last he had begun to see the full humor ofAdelbert Higgins' joke.