"Oh, no, I am not a real sailor. I am going to the Isthmus to work in the Canal Zone." Boyish pride made him reluctant to confess how dubious he was of finding work. Alfaro was so full of affectionate admiration that he was ready to believe great things of Walter, and he exclaimed: "I am sure you will have a fine position. I knew you were not a common sailor. You are working your passage as a lark? I have been wishing landslides and yellow-fever and all kinds of bad luck to the Yankees so they could never finish the canal. But now, for your sake, my feelings are different." Walter had begun to be fond of the fiery Colombian who was so quick to express his likes and dislikes. "Thank you," he replied. "I hope we shall run across each other on shore." "I must wait a week for my steamer from Panama down the west coast," said Alfaro. "I am going home on leave of absence from the legation to see my father and mother. I will say nothing about the row with General Quesada. My father would not think it diplomatic. I will find you at your office in the Zone?" "I certainly hope so," gravely answered Walter, but for reasons known to himself he failed to mention his address. The interview was cut short by a summons from Captain Bradshaw, who wished to see Goodwin at once. He climbed to the bridge-deck and entered the captain's room, cap in hand. "Don't look so scared, young man. I'm not going to eat you alive," was the good-humored reassurance. "General Quesada came boiling up here just now and demanded that I lock you up and turn you over to the Panamanian police when we dock at Colon. Of course I told him that the deck of this ship is American territory and he was talking foolishness." "But _he_ is the man who ought to be locked up," protested Walter. "What about his trying to shoot Señor Alfaro?" "I said as much, but he didn't listen. He swore he pulled the revolver merely to frighten the Colombian. And then he says you whanged daylight out of him with a club. I had to talk Spanish with him and I missed some of his red-hot language." "Yes, sir, I whanged him good and plenty," declared Walter, "and he yelled and ran for all he was worth." "The ship's doctor had to bandage his knuckles," resumed Captain Bradshaw with a chuckle, "and there is a welt on his jaw, and he is marked in various other places. What hurts him worst is that a common sailor, and a boy at that, chased him from the deck with a broomstick and battered him all up. This Quesada poses as a military hero in Panama, you understand, and plays a strong hand in the politics of that funny little republic." "Perhaps I ought not to have hit him so hard," and Walter looked solemn.