“Something over two hundred thousand dollars.” “United State America dollars?” “Of course.” Our visitor drew an envelope from his pocket; laid it on the table and scribbled some figures upon the back. “Ver’ well,” he said, presently; “I take him at two hunder thousan’ dollar, American.” “But—” “It is bargain. What your terms?” “Cash!” snapped Uncle Naboth, laughing at the man’s obstinacy. The diamond-bedecked man leaned his elbow on the table and his head on his hand in a reflective pose. Then he straightened up and nodded his head vigorously. “Why not?” he exclaimed. “Of course it must the cash be. You will know, sir, that a gentleman does not carry two hunder’ thousan’ dollar about his person, and although I have had more than that sum on deposit in Bank of Melbourne, it have been expend in recent purchases. However, nevertheless, in spite of, I may say, I have ample fund in Bogota. I will make you draft on my bank there, and you may sail with me in my ship and collect the money in gold when we arrive. That is cash payment, Señor; is not?” “Bogota!” remarked my uncle, by this time thoroughly bewildered. “That is a long way off.” “Merely across Pacific,” said the other easily. “There is direct route to it through the South Seas.” My father nodded in confirmation of this statement. He knew his charts by heart. “Sir,” said Uncle Naboth, sitting up and heaving a deep sigh, “I have not the honor of knowing who the blazes you are.” The stranger cast a stealthy glance around the room. Then he leaned forward and said in a low voice: “I am Jiminez.” This impressive statement failed to enlighten my uncle. “Jiminez who?” he inquired. For an instant the man seemed offended. Then he smiled condescendingly. “To be sure!” he replied. “You are of United State and have no interest in South American affairs. It is natural you have ignorance regarding our politics. In Bogota the name of De Jiminez stands for reform; and reform stands for—” He hesitated. “What?” asked my uncle. “Revolution!” “That’s only nat’ral,” observed Mr. Perkins complacently. “I hear revolutions are your reg’lar diet down in South America. If there didn’t happen to be a revolution on tap your people wouldn’t know what to do with themselves.” Señor de Jiminez frowned at this. “We will not politic discuss, if you please,” he rejoined stiffly. “We will discuss ship.” “We don’t want to sell,” said my uncle positively. De Jiminez looked at him speculatively. “I tell you with frankness, I must have ship,” said he. “What for?” “I will tell you that—but in more privacy,” with a wave of his hand toward our interested group. “Oh, these are all _Seagull_ men,” announced Uncle Naboth. “I’ll introduce you, Mr. Yim—Him—Jim—” “Jiminez.” He pronounced it “He-ma-noth” now, in Spanish fashion.