"Yes; a lunch. Can't you lead me to a banana vine or a breadfruit bakery? I'm starving. They grow the finest cocoanuts in the world right here--worth five cents apiece; they require no care, have no worms, no bugs. You sit still and they drop in your lap. Can't you show me a tree where we can sit and wait for something to drop?" Allan replied, seriously: "But when the cocoanut falls, it is no good for h'eating, sar. The milk is h'acid." "I see you have a sense of humor; you should be in the consular service. But h'acid or sweet, h'eating or cooling, I must get something into my stomach--it's as flat as a wet envelope." The Jamaican rose, saying: "Step this way, please. I know the place where a very good female is. Per'aps she will make us a present." "How far is it?" "Oh, not too far," Allan replied, optimistically, and Kirk hopefully followed him. But at the opposite side of the square they were halted by a sudden commotion which drove all thoughts of food out of their minds. From a building across the street issued a bugle-call, upon which an indescribable confusion broke forth. Men began running to and fro; a voice in authority shouted orders, each of which was the signal for another bugle-call. Through the wide-open doors the Panamanians could be seen, scurrying around a hose-cart, apparently in search of clothes; some were struggling into red shirts, others were stamping their feet into short boots or girding themselves with wide canvas belts. Meanwhile, the chief issued more orders and the bugle continued to blow. "Oh, look, boss!" Allan cried, quickly. "There must be a 'flagration." "It's a Spiggoty hose company, as I live. Come on!" Already a glare could be seen above the crowded portion of the city, and the two set off in that direction at a run, leaving the bugle sounding in the rear and the gallant firemen still wrestling with their uniforms. They had nearly reached the fire when around a corner back of them, with frightful speed and clangor, came a modern automobile fire-truck, clinging to which was a swarm of little brown men in red shirts and helmets. They reminded the American of monkeys on a circus horse, and, although he had been counted a reckless driver, he exclaimed in astonishment at the daring way in which the chauffeur took the turn.