"Damn it," he cried, "I would not have done so. This place is the devil. The ice factory has shut down, and my drink has been warm for two days." "Very interesting," replied the Englishman, "but if you have nothing more important to tell me, you will excuse me if I return to my bed." The colonel raised his hand. "One moment," said he. Then he ordered his men out of ear-shot. He rolled a cigarette, and lit it with unseemly deliberation. "I have been remarkably polite and friendly," he said, "but now I have your steamer, and the crew in prison, and unless, my dear fellow, we can agree--" He stopped, and removed his hat, the better to rub his brow. Hemming yawned. "The army," continued the Brazilian, "is in a dangerous mood. Unless you give me five thousand _milreis_ to-night,--only five thousand _milreis_,--I fear that I can restrain my brave soldiers no longer. But say nothing of it to Señor Cuddlehead." "Give me time to shave," said Hemming, "and then--" "And then?" asked the colonel. "Why, and then," repeated Hemming, "tell the little beasts not to be restrained any longer. As for the money--you may go to the devil for that." The colonel sighed, and mopped his neck with his wilted handkerchief. "It is too warm to fight," he said. "You will find it so," retorted the Englishman. The colonel looked up helplessly. "My army," he sighed, "how can I restrain it? I hate to fight, and my head aches. But my army must have some money." "I don't see my way to help you," said Hemming. "The revolution is a failure unless you surrender and pay," cried the colonel. "Don't you understand, my dear Hemming? I do not like bloodshed, but--well, you have ruined our gentler plan." "You might carry away the table silver," replied Hemming, "but there is no money. That has all gone to the coast. No doubt the house and furniture, and even the forks and spoons, belong by now to the Brazilian government. It would be foolish of you to damage government property for the sake of a few pounds. It would mean trouble, my friend." The colonel sagged in his saddle like a bag of meal. "I cannot argue," he said, listlessly. "It is too hot to talk. My head aches--the devil take it. You should not have sent the money." "A touch of sun," suggested Hemming. The fat Brazilian looked at the blue sky through bloodshot, half-closed eyes. "The sun," he said, "why, yes, the sun. Damn the sun." He swayed for a moment, and then slid in a heap to the ground. His men had been watching him, and now two of them ran forward and carried the yielding, flabby body to the nearest fountain. "Sun and whiskey," commented Hemming. Then he returned to his bedroom and commenced to shave.