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sentry, and he stepped before the bars of the door. There stood his little saint, a black mantilla draped about her head and shoulders, her face like glorified melancholy, her clear eyes gazing longingly at him as if they might draw him between the bars to her. She brought a chicken, some oranges, dulces and a loaf of white bread. A soldier inspected the food, and passed it in to Dicky. Pasa spoke calmly, as she always did, briefly, in her thrilling, flute-like tones. “Angel of my life,” she said, “let it not be long that thou art away from me.
Thou knowest that life is not a thing to be endured with thou not at my side. Tell me if I can do aught in this matter. If not, I will wait - a little while. I come again in the morning."
Dicky, with his shoes removed so as not to disturb his fellow prisoners, tramped the floor of the jail half the night condemning his lack of money and the cause of it - whatever that might have been. He knew very well that money would have bought his release at once.
For two days succeeding Pasa came at the appointed times and brought him food. He eagerly inquired each time if a letter or package had come for him, and she mournfully shook her head.
On the morning of the third day she brought only
a small loaf of bread. There were dark circles under her eyes. She seemed as calm as ever.
“By jingo,” said Dicky, who seemed to speak in English or Spanish as the whim seized him, “this is dry provender, muchachita. Is this the best you can dig up for a fellow?”
Pasa looked at him as a mother looks at a beloved but capricious babe.
“Think better of it,” she said, in a low voice; “since for the next meal there will be nothing. The last centavo is spent." She pressed closer against the grating
“Sell the goods in the shop - take anything for them.”
"Have I not tried? Did I not offer them for onetenth their cost? Not even one peso would any one give. There is not one real in this town to assist Dickee Malonee.”
Dick clenched his teeth grimly. “That's the comandante," he growled. “He's responsible for that sentiment. Wait, oh, wait till the cards are all out."
Pasa lowered her voice to almost a whisper. “And, listen, heart of my heart,” she said, “I have endeavoured to be brave, but I cannot live without thee. Three days now
Dicky caught a faint gleam of steel from the folds of her mantilla. For once she looked in his face and saw it without a smile, stern, menacing and purposeful. Then he suddenly raised his hand and his smile came back like a gleam of sunshine. The hoarse signal of an incoming steamer's siren sounded in the harbour. Dicky called to the sentry who was pacing before the door: “What steamer comes?"
“Go you, picarilla,” said Dicky joyously to Pasa, “to the American consul. Tell him I wish to speak with him. See that he comes at once. And look you! let me see a different look in those eyes, for I promise your head shall rest upon this arm tonight.”
It was an hour before the consul came. He held his green umbrella under his arm, and mopped his forehead impatiently.
“Now, see here, Maloney,” he began, captiously, "you fellows seem to think you can cut up any kind of row, and expect me to pull you out of it. I'm neither the War Department nor a gold mine. This country has its laws, you know, and there's one against pounding the senses out of the regular army.
You Irish are forever getting into trouble. I don't see what I can do. Anything like tobacco, now, to make you comfortable — or newspapers —
“Son of Eli,” interrupted Dicky, gravely, “you haven't changed an iota. That is almost a duplicate of the speech you made when old Koen's donkeys and geese got into the chapel loft, and the culprits wanted to hide in your room."
“Oh, heavens !” exclaimed the consul, hurriedly, adjusting his spectacles. “Are you a Yale man, too? Were
in that crowd? I don't seem to remember any one with red - any one named Maloney. Such a lot of college men seem to have misused their advantages. One of the best mathematicians of the class of '91 is selling lottery tickets in Belize. A Cornell man dropped off here last month. He was second steward on a guano boat. I'll write to the department if you like, Maloney. Or if there's any tobacco, or newspa -"
“There's nothing," interrupted Dicky, shortly, “but this. You go tell the captain of the Catarina that Dicky Maloney wants to see him as soon as he can conveniently come. Tell him where I Hurry. That's all."
The consul, glad to be let off so easily, hurried away.
The captain of the Catarina, a stout man,
Sicilian born, soon appeared, shoving, with little ceremony, through the guards to the jail door. The Vesuvius Fruit Company had a habit of doing things that way in Anchuria.
“I am exceedingly sorry — exceedingly sorry,” said the captain, “to see this occur. I place myself at your service, Mr. Maloney. What you need shall be furnished. Whatever you say shall be done.”
Dicky looked at him unsmilingly. His red hair could not detract from his attitude of severe dignity as he stood, tall and calm, with his now grim mouth forming a horizontal line.
“Captain De Lucco, I believe I still have funds in the hands of your company
ample and personal funds. I ordered a remittance last week. The money has not arrived. You know what is needed in this game. Money and money and more money. Why has it not been sent?”
“By the Cristobal,” replied De Lucco, gesticulating, “it was despatched. Where is the Cristobal? Off Cape Antonio I spoke her with a broken shaft. A tramp coaster was towing her back to New Orleans. I brought money ashore thinking your need for it might not withstand delay. In this envelope is one thousand dollars. There is more if you need it, Mr. Maloney."