Presently the trio were seated at a small table in the rear of the store, which was empty for the moment of customers. “Ah, that sounds good,” exclaimed Herc approvingly, as the long, cool fizz-z-z-z of the fountain announced that their refreshments were being drawn. The stranger bent forward as the red-headed lad spoke, and in a cautious voice said: “But I have something to talk to you about which will sound bettaire.” “So?” said Ned carelessly, as the soda glasses were placed in front of them, and Herc at once buried his nose in pink, creamy foam, “What is it?” “Hush! Do not speak so loud. I don’t want it that any one should hear us.” “Oh, then, it’s sort of secret business?” “Zat is eet. You are a young man of penetration.” “You’d say so if you saw him wading into any one he doesn’t like,” grinned Herc, setting down his empty glass and investigating its depths with a spoon. The clerk was instantly at his elbow. The stranger looked up angrily at the store attendant. “What are you doing listening here?” he demanded sharply. “I wasn’t listening,” expostulated the aggrieved clerk, “I came to see if this gentleman wanted any more.” “Bring us all three some, and then keep away,” grunted the black-mustached foreigner aggressively. “Make mine vanilla this time,” ordered Herc. “One nevaire knows who may be a spy,” explained the stranger, as the clerk brought the new order, and then busied himself, out of earshot, in the front of the store. “Well, we’re not afraid of any spies,” returned Herc Taylor, giving the stranger a searching look. “Oh, no, of course not. Zee brave sailor of Uncle Sam----” “Never mind that,” interrupted Ned, “you brought us here, you said, to talk to us about something important--what?” “You young men have heard of the Republic of Costaveza?” “Of course, that tamale-eating South American merry-go-round,” blurted out Herc, “that’s where the _Beale_ is bound for--so I heard,” he added rather confusedly. He had caught Ned’s eye, and he thought it held a reproof for his outspokenness. “You are pairfectly right,” assented the other. “Now, there is an opportunity to make what you call zee big money down there, for two bright young men like you.” “How?” inquired Ned bluntly. This directness seemed to confuse somewhat the dark-skinned man, who, like most of his race, which was Latin-American, preferred intrigues and dark hints to coming straight to the point. “Why,” he began, and then paused, as if searching for a word, “by--by keeping zee eyes open.” “I don’t understand.” “Let me explain. The Republic of Costaveza is now in a state of revolution.” The boys nodded. “The United States government is not friendly to the rebels, but dare not show zat this ees the case. It would not be consistent with her policies to interfere.” “Well, what’s all this got to do with us?” asked Ned in the same direct way. He was growing to like the mysterious manner of the stranger less and less.