New York (N.Y.) -- Social life and customs -- Fiction; Short stories
“I thought you were a fool the other day,” went on Keogh, quietly, “and
I’m not sure now that you wasn’t. But if you was, so am I. I’ve been in
some funny deals, Carry, but I’ve always managed to scramble fair, and
match my brains and capital against the other fellow’s. But when it
comes to—well, when you’ve got the other fellow cinched, and the screws
on him, and he’s got to put up—why, it don’t strike me as being a man’s
game. They’ve got a name for it, you know; it’s—confound you, don’t you
understand? A fellow feels—it’s something like that blamed art of
yours—he—well, I tore that photograph up and laid the pieces on that
stack of money and shoved the whole business back across the table.
‘Excuse me, Mr. Losada,’ I said, ‘but I guess I’ve made a mistake in
the price. You get the photo for nothing.’ Now, Carry, you get out the
pencil, and we’ll do some more figuring. I’d like to save enough out of
our capital for you to have some fried sausages in your joint when you
get back to New York.”
XV
DICKY
There is little consecutiveness along the Spanish Main. Things happen
there intermittently. Even Time seems to hang his scythe daily on the
branch of an orange tree while he takes a siesta and a cigarette.
After the ineffectual revolt against the administration of President
Losada, the country settled again into quiet toleration of the abuses
with which he had been charged. In Coralio old political enemies went
arm-in-arm, lightly eschewing for the time all differences of opinion.
The failure of the art expedition did not stretch the cat-footed Keogh
upon his back. The ups and downs of Fortune made smooth travelling for
his nimble steps. His blue pencil stub was at work again before the
smoke of the steamer on which White sailed had cleared away from the
horizon. He had but to speak a word to Geddie to find his credit
negotiable for whatever goods he wanted from the store of Brannigan &
Company. On the same day on which White arrived in New York Keogh, at
the rear of a train of five pack mules loaded with hardware and
cutlery, set his face toward the grim, interior mountains. There the
Indian tribes wash gold dust from the auriferous streams; and when a
market is brought to them trading is brisk and _muy bueno_ in the
Cordilleras.
In Coralio Time folded his wings and paced wearily along his drowsy
path. They who had most cheered the torpid hours were gone. Clancy had
sailed on a Spanish barque for Colon, contemplating a cut across the
isthmus and then a further voyage to end at Calao, where the fighting
was said to be on. Geddie, whose quiet and genial nature had once
served to mitigate the frequent dull reaction of lotus eating, was now
a home-man, happy with his bright orchid, Paula, and never even
dreaming of or regretting the unsolved, sealed and monogramed Bottle
whose contents, now inconsiderable, were held safely in the keeping of
the sea.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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