“If ever we come to Bogota,” I remarked, “we are liable to find you in jail or in hiding among the mountains. These petty South American revolutions take queer turns sometimes and are liable to become dangerous.” “Petty!” he exclaimed. “Petty revolutions!” “That is certainly what they are,” I returned. “Your country is so small and insignificant that we seldom hear of it in the big world; and your revolution is so absurdly unimportant that we never hear of it at all.” “But you will!” he cried. “When we have won and my father is made president the world will ring with our victory.” “Nonsense,” said I. “The newspapers in the United States will give it about an inch of space, and the people who read that inch will wonder where on earth Colombia is.” He seemed nettled at this, and a little crestfallen. “That inch of publicity,” I continued, “you will perhaps get in case you win. But if you lose you remain unnoticed. There are lots of Central and South American republics, and plenty of revolutions in them at all times. To be frank with you, Alfonso, the people of more important nations are weary of reading about them.” He hardly knew what to reply, but his humiliation was of short duration. After strutting up and down the deck a few turns he rejoined us and said: “You may sneer at Colombia—and at her great revolution—but you cannot sneer at the family of De Jiminez. We are very ancient.” “You are, indeed,” I assented. “You have had a great many ancestors; but they are mostly dead, are they not?” “How far back can you trace _your_ descent?” he asked. “As far as my father. Those before him we’ve lost track of. They are also dead, and therefore of no importance to us just now.” “The family of De Jiminez,” he stated proudly, “is very wealthy.” “Why mention so common a thing?” I responded. “There are thousands of big fortunes in the world. Joe Herring, who stands there beside you and is our second mate, is a millionaire; yet he lacks distinction on that account because there happen to be so many other millionaires in the world.” He turned and stared at Joe by the light of the swinging lantern. “You a millionaire!” he exclaimed. “Perhaps a little better than that,” admitted Joe, quietly. “I’m a seaman and pretty nearly a man.” “But you have money—a million?” “My agent says it’s getting to be nearly twice that; it grows so tremendously while I’m away.” “Then why do you sail in a ship as second mate?” “Mainly because I love the life, and secondly because I love Sam, here,” returned Joe gravely. “The adventure and companionship give me more pleasure than to pose in a big city as a rich young kid. As a matter of fact the money is a nuisance to me.” “Why don’t you buy a ship of your own and hire Sam to sail with you?” asked Little Jim. “Hire Sam! Why Sam is worth more of that dreadful money than I am. I’m sure he could buy the De Jiminez estates with the bank thrown in and still be rich.” The statement dazed Alfonso.