“Very well, then. It’s this quarantine business. If Dr. Pruyn comes here and declares bubonic plague—” “But how will he get in?” asked Carroll. “So far as the blockade goes, the Dutch will help him all they can. But this Government will keep him out, if possible.” “He is not persona grata?” asked Brewster. “Not with any of the countries that play politics with pestilence. But if he’s sent here, he’ll get in some way. In fact, Stark, the public-health surgeon at Puerto del Norte, let fall a hint that makes me think he’s on his way now. Probably in some cockleshell of a small boat manned by Indian smugglers.” “It sounds almost too adventurous for the scholarly Pruyn whom I recall,” observed Mr. Brewster. “The man who went through the cholera anarchy on the lazar island off Camacho, with one case of medical supplies and two boxes of cartridges, may have been scholarly; he certainly didn’t exhibit any distaste for adventure. Well, I wish he’d arrive and get something settled. Only I’d like to have you out of the way first.” “Oh, don’t send _me_ away, Mr. Sherwen,” pleaded Miss Polly, with mischief in her eyes. “I’d make the cunningest little office assistant to busy old Dr. Pruyn. And he’s a friend of dad’s, and we surely ought to wait for him.” “If only I _could_ send you! The fact is, Americans won’t be very popular if matters turn out as I expect.” “Shall we be confined to our rooms and kept _incomunicado_, while Dr. Pruyn chases the terrified germ through the streets of Caracuña?” queried the irrepressible Polly. “You’ll probably have to move to the legation, where you will be very welcome, but none too comfortable. The place has been practically closed and sealed for two months.” “I’m sure we should bother you dreadfully,” said the girl. “It would bother me more dreadfully if you got into any trouble. Just this morning there was some kind of an affair on a street car in which some Americans were involved.” Miss Polly’s countenance was a design—a very dainty and ornamental design—in _insouciance_ as her father said:— “Americans? Any one we have met?” “No news has come to me. I understand one of the diplomatic corps, returning from the President’s matinée, spoke to an American woman, and an American man interfered.” “When did this happen?” asked Carroll. “About noon. Inquiries are going on quietly.” The young man directed a troubled and accusing look from his fine eyes upon Miss Brewster. “You see, Miss Polly,” he said, “no lady should go about unprotected down here.” “Ordinarily it’s as safe as any city,” said Sherwen. “Just now I can’t be so certain.” “I hate being watched over like a child!” pouted Miss Brewster. “And I love sight-seeing alone. The flowers along the Calvario Road were so lovely.” “That’s the road to the palace,” remarked Carroll, looking at her closely. “And the butterflies are so marvelous,” she continued cheerfully. “Who lives in that salmon-pink pagoda just this side of the curve?”