Aiken proceeded to play the host in a most cordial manner. He placed my trunk in the room I was to occupy, and set out some very strong Honduran cigars and a bottle of Jamaica rum. While he did this he began to grumble over the loss of his sewing-machines, and to swear picturesquely at Captain Leeds, bragging of the awful things he meant to do to him. But when he had tasted his drink and lighted a cigar, his good-humor returned, and he gave his attention to me. “Now then, young one,” he asked, in a tone of the utmost familiarity, “what’s your trouble?” I explained that I could not help but hear what the Captain shouted at him from the Panama, and I asked if it was contrary to the law of Honduras for one to communicate with the officer Captain Leeds had mentioned--General Laguerre. “The old man, hey?” Aiken exclaimed and stared at me apparently with increased interest. “Well, there are some people who might prevent your getting to him,” he answered, diplomatically. For a moment he sipped his rum and water, while he examined me from over the top of the cup. Then he winked and smiled. “Come now,” he said, encouragingly. “Speak up. What’s the game? You can trust me. You’re an agent for Collins, or the Winchester Arms people, aren’t you?” “On the contrary,” I said, with some haughtiness, “I am serving no one’s interest but my own. I read in the papers of General Laguerre and his foreign legion, and I came here to join him and to fight with him. That’s all. I am a soldier of fortune, I said.” I repeated this with some emphasis, for I liked the sound of it. “I am a soldier of fortune, and my name is Macklin. I hope in time to make it better known.” “A soldier of fortune, hey?” exclaimed Aiken, observing me with a grin. “What soldiering have you done?” I replied, with a little embarrassment, that as yet I had seen no active service, but that for three years I had been trained for it at West Point. “At West Point, the deuce you have!” said Aiken. His tone was now one of respect, and he regarded me with marked interest. He was not a gentleman, but he was sharp-witted enough to recognize one in me, and my words and bearing had impressed him. Still his next remark was disconcerting. “But if you’re a West Point soldier,” he asked, “why the devil do you want to mix up in a shooting-match like this?” I was annoyed, but I answered, civilly: “It’s in a good cause,” I said. “As I understand the situation, this President Alvarez is a tyrant. He’s opposed to all progress. It’s a fight for liberty.” Aiken interrupted me with a laugh, and placed his feet on the table. “Oh, come,” he said, in a most offensive tone. “Play fair, play fair.” “Play fair? What do you mean?” I demanded. “You don’t expect me to believe,” he said, jeeringly, “that you came all the way down here, just to fight for the sacred cause of liberty.”