Bankers -- Fiction; British -- South America -- Fiction; Man-woman relationships -- Fiction; Political fiction
"No time, sir. Couldn't tire the horses. Besides, when he'd once got
home, he's got a dozen men there, and they'd have kept us all night.
Well, sir, I must be off. Any answer for the colonel? He'll be outside
the Golden House by eleven, sir, and Mr. Carr won't get in if he comes
after that."
"Tell him to rely on me," I answered. But for all that I didn't mean
to shoot Johnny on sight. So, much perturbed in spirit, I set off to
the barracks, wondering when Johnny would get to Whittingham, and
whether he would fall into the colonel's hands outside the Golden
House. It struck me as unpleasantly probable that he might come
and spoil the harmony of my evening; if he came there first, the
conspiracy would probably lose my aid at an early moment! What would
happen to me I didn't know. But, as I took off my coat in the lobby,
I bent down as if to tie a shoestring, and had one more look at my
revolver.
CHAPTER IX.
A SUPPER PARTY.
I shall never forget that supper as long as I live. Considered merely
as a social gathering it would be memorable enough, for I never before
or since sat at meat with ten such queer customers as my hosts of
that evening. The officers of the Aureataland Army were a very mixed
lot--two or three Spanish-Americans, three or four Brazilians, and the
balance Americans of the type their countrymen are least proud of. If
there was an honest man among them he sedulously concealed his title
to distinction; I know there wasn't a sober one. The amount of liquor
consumed was portentous; and I gloated with an unholy joy as I saw man
after man rapidly making himself what diplomatists call a _quantité
negligéable_. The conversation needed all the excuse the occasion
could afford, and the wit would have appeared unduly coarse in a
common pot-house. All this might have passed from my memory,
or blended in a subdued harmony with my general impression of
Aureataland; but the peculiar position in which I stood gave to my
mind an unusual activity of perception. Among this band of careless,
drunken revelers I sat vigilant, restless, and impatient; feigning
to take a leading part in their dissolute hilarity, I was sober,
collected, and alert to my very finger-tips. I anxiously watched their
bearing and expression. I led them on to speak of the President,
rejoicing when I elicited open murmurs and covert threats at his base
ingratitude to the men on whose support his power rested. They had not
been paid for six months, and were ripe for any mischief. I was more
than once tempted to forestall the colonel and begin the revolution
on my own account; only my inability to produce before their eyes any
arguments of the sort they would listen to restrained me.
Eleven o'clock had come and gone. The senior captain had proposed the
President's health. It was drunk in sullen silence; I was the only man
who honored it by rising from his seat.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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