"But you ought not to be sore on the silly parrot," sagely replied Walter, trying to fathom what appeared to him as an absurd situation. "I never happened to read much about Colombia's side of the story, but the Panama Canal had to be built, you know, and I guess your country was like the grasshopper that sat on the railroad track." "Grasshopper!" and Alfaro was in more violent eruption than ever as he strode hastily aft to get away from the parrot. "You do not understand, Goodwin. You Yankees can never, never understand. That parrot belongs to a Panamanian--to General Quesada, the big, yellow, fat man whom you have seen on deck. He made himself prominent in the revolution against Colombia, but he is no good. He is a tin soldier. He had taught his parrot to insult my country, to have fun with my honor. He has laughed at me all the voyage. He had made the others laugh at me. It is dangerous to make me so mad." Walter began to comprehend. He had heartily disliked General Quesada on sight, and he had heard something of the coarse teasing to which Alfaro had been subjected. "I suppose that is why you have flocked by yourself," he replied. "But you ought not to be so touchy." At this moment General Quesada himself came waddling on deck, parrot-cage in hand, evidently intending to give his accomplished pet an early morning airing. He was a gross, ungainly man, heavy of countenance. At sight of the indignant Alfaro he shook with laughter and prodded the bird with his finger, which prompted it to screech: "_Viva Panama! Pobre Colombia! Ha! Ha! Ha!_" The young man whom he had enjoyed taunting as a diversion of the voyage retorted with fiery Spanish abuse, which made the Panamanian scowl as if he had been stung by something sharp enough to penetrate his thick hide. He uttered a volley of guttural maledictions in his turn, and was echoed by the blackguardly parrot. For Fernandez Garcia Alfaro this was the last straw. His inflammable temper was ablaze. He rushed at the corpulent general and let his fists fly against the full moon of a countenance. Before Walter Goodwin could interfere, the Panamanian had found room to jerk a small automatic revolver from a pocket of his trousers. Alfaro caught a glimpse of the weapon and tried to grip the arm that flourished it. The decks were otherwise deserted at this early hour and duty called Walter to attempt the rôle of peacemaker. This was a difficult undertaking, for Alfaro, active as an angry jaguar, persisted in fighting at close range with hands and feet, while the bulky Panamanian twisted and wrenched him this way and that, and vainly tried to use his weapon.