The dinner was long and hot, and Valentine Hicks, forgetting utterly his Harvard manner, dropped his head on the table, between his claret-glass and coffee-cup, and dreamed beastly dreams. The swarthy Brazilians talked and smoked, and sent away the decanters to be refilled. The stifling air held the tobacco smoke above the table. The cotton-clad servants moved on noiseless feet. "These Americans,--dear heaven," spoke a fat major, softly. "I am fond of Hicks," said Santosa, laying his hand on the youth's unconscious shoulder. A slim lieutenant, who had held a commission in a Brazilian regiment stationed in Rio, looked at the captain. "The Americans are harmless," he said. "They mind their own business,--or better still, they let us mind it for them. The President--bah! And our dear Valentine. If he gets enough to eat, and clothes cut in the English way, and some one to listen to his little stories of how he used to play golf at Harvard, he is content. But this Englishman,--this Señor Hemming,--he is quite different." "Did not you at one time play golf?" asked Santosa, calmly. "Three times, in Florida," replied the lieutenant, "and with me played a lady, who talked at her ease and broke two clubs in one morning. She was of a fashionable convent named Smith, but this did not deter her from the free expression of her thoughts." "Stir up Señor Hicks, that we may hear two fools at the same time," said the colonel. "Take my word for it, colonel, that Valentine is not a fool," said Santosa, lightly. "He is very young." "Have you nothing to say for me?" asked the slim lieutenant, good-naturedly. "You know what I think of you all," replied Santosa, without heat. The conversation was carried on in Portuguese, and now ran into angry surmises as to the President's reason for placing Hemming in command. It was close upon midnight when Hicks awoke. He straightened himself in his chair and blinked at Santosa, who alone, of the whole mess, remained at table. "You have had a little nap," said the Brazilian. Hicks looked at him for awhile in silence. Then he got to his feet, and leaned heavily on the table. "I'll walk home, old tea-cosey. Tell your nigger to give my gee something to eat, will you?" "You do not look well, my dear Valentine. You had better stay here until morning," said Santosa. Hicks swore, and then begged the other's pardon. "Am I drunk, old chap? Do I look that way?" he asked. Captain Santosa laughed. "You look like a man with a grudge against some one," he answered. "Perhaps you have a touch of fever, otherwise I know you would have good taste enough to conceal the grudge. A gentleman suffers--and smiles." It was past two o'clock in the morning, and Hemming was lying flat on his back, smoking a cigarette in the dark. He had been writing verses, and letters which he did not intend to mail, until long past midnight. And now he lay wide-eyed on his bed, kept awake by the restless play of his thoughts.