Forbidden Cargoes
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CHAPTER IV JOHNNY THOMPSON IN JAIL
It may seem a trifle strange that anything could have separated thesegood pals, Johnny and Pant. Fact is, only Pant's discovery of a genuineblood relative, his grandfather, could have brought about suchseparation. Pant of course had become deeply engrossed in the work ofbuilding up the fortune of his white-haired grandsire. In this taskJohnny had shown a lively interest until the concession with thepriceless map enclosed had arrived. From that time on, it had seemed,nothing remained to be done save to round up a band of chicleros and getback into the bush. There a camp would be built and long weeks spent ingathering and boiling down the sap of the "chewing gum" trees. For thistask Johnny had no taste. He must have adventure.
So on that bright tropical morning, little dreaming that the safe wouldbe robbed that night and that adventure would be provided for all, he hadcut himself a stout stick for dealing with snakes, had strapped a macheteto his belt and had fared forth alone in search of adventure.
Had Johnny lived in Honduras twenty-five years, or even ten, he wouldhave waited for the train. It wouldn't go up for two days. But always, tothe Central American, there is plenty of time.
But Johnny was new to the Tropics. He was in the habit of taking the besttransportation he could get. The best this time was a pair of shortsturdy legs which belonged to Johnny Thompson.
The road leads through a jungle. Here and there is a small group ofstruggling, insignificant banana plantations, but the jungle has so farsucceeded in taking them back to itself that they, too, seem wild.
There is a certain joy to be had from a journey on foot through atropical jungle. There is a glimmer of green, a fresh damp odor of decay,faint and pleasing as musk, and there always comes from the bushes andtrees a suggestion of low, joyous music, made, perhaps by bees and birds,but nevertheless it is there, an indescribable music. Johnny had enjoyedall this until he had begun to feel the need of food and refreshment.Most of all, he wanted a drink. Any old drink would do. But there was nodrink. The dry season was nearing its close. Everywhere the floor of thejungle was dry as the Sahara.
Had Johnny lived long in the jungle he would have stepped aside to breakthe stem of a certain plant, then to catch in the hollow of his hand thedelicious water that came dripping out almost in a stream.
He hadn't lived long in a jungle, so all he could do was to plod on.
When his desire for water had become intense longing, when his tongueseemed to fill his mouth and his throat clicked when he swallowed, he hadfound himself by a sudden turn to the right brought suddenly into themidst of an orchard of fruit trees.
"Forbidden fruit" is the name the natives have given these great goldenballs. Johnny didn't call them that. He had called them grapefruit. Hehadn't eaten grapefruit many times because he had found them bitter.
"Bitter!" he had said, making a wry face. "Bitter, and me dying ofthirst!" At a distance they had looked like oranges.
"Oh well--" He had resigned himself to his fate. "Here goes!"
He had left the railway bed, then dropping on the moss beneath a heavilyladen tree, had seized upon a great golden ball and had begun tearingaway its covering.
Having quartered the fruit, he had made up a wry face and thrust agenerous wedge into his mouth.
Instantly the wry face had vanished. A glorious smile took its place.
"Not bad," he said, filling his mouth again. "Not half bad. Just need toget ripe, I suppose. Sugar would be an insult to such fruit as this.People in the States don't know what it is."
He had spoken to himself, but some one else had heard, for from somewhereabove him there had come in a melodious voice:
"So you like forbidden fruit?"
"I--I beg your pardon!" Johnny was on his feet at once. "I--I didn't meanto steal. See here, I'll buy a quarter's worth."
He had looked up at the girl whose golden hair, golden freckles and darkgreen dress so completely blended with fruit and foliage that, until now,he had not seen her.
"Have you a donkey?" There was a suggestion of a laugh in the girl'stone. "I don't see any."
"Why must I have a donkey?" Johnny looked his surprise.
"Because we sell them by the barrel. Fifty cents a barrel. Of course, fora quarter you'd only get a half a barrel. But even so, how are you goingto carry them?" Shaking out her dress and laughing the girl had droppedto the ground.
Out of his little adventure in the grapefruit orchard had grown a newenterprise. Johnny suddenly decided to become a shipping agent. MadgeKennedy, who had turned out to be a Scotch girl, had insisted upon hisaccompanying her to the house to meet her grandfather, Donald Kennedy.The grandfather, a great gray-bearded man with a store of knowledge thatcould come only from long study and many years in the jungle, had provena find indeed. Johnny did not soon tire of sitting on the broad verandaof the long one-story house, listening to the old man as he rambled onabout bananas and grapefruit, strange tropical foods, Carib Indians, andthe future of their little Central American Colony.
It had not taken Johnny long to discover, however, that these kindlypeople were really almost paupers in the midst of their abundance. Manycarloads of the finest fruit in the world hung ripe on the trees. Why wasit not being shipped?
When he had pressed them for an answer to this puzzling question, MadgeKennedy had told him that the fruit company had refused to accept theirfruit. The reason, she supposed, was that her grandfather had two yearsbefore sold his crop to the owner of a tramp steamer. The great East SeaFruit Company, which had a monopoly on the fruit trade of CentralAmerica, did not wish competition, and they took this method of punishingher grandfather.
"But say!" Johnny leaped to his feet. "I'll find you a ship. There's oneanchored off Belize now. Jorgensen is the captain. He's anxious enoughfor a cargo. Came all this way for a cargo of mahogany. The half-casteIndian woodcutters are on a strike. There is no mahogany to haul."
"Oh!" Madge beamed upon him in sudden excitement.
"But then," her smile vanished, "I know the ship. It's no use. We haveonly a third of a cargo for her."
"Finish up with bananas," Johnny suggested.
"Whose bananas? Every grower has a contract to sell only to the FruitCompany."
For a little time Johnny felt himself baffled, defeated. Then of a suddenan inspiration came. Many times he had watched the loading of bananas offthe dock at Stann Creek.
"Six hands!" he exclaimed excitedly. "That's it! Six hands! We'll have acargo yet!"
That very night, after telling Madge of his grand plan, he started forGuatemala City to see the man who owned the largest banana plantation inCentral America.
For some little time fortune smiled upon him in his new enterprise.Arriving at Stann Creek in the dead of night he found a sailing boatpreparing to leave for Porte Barrios. At this port he caught a train forGuatemala. High noon found him walking the streets of that ancient andmost beautiful city of Central America.
The city's beauty was lost upon him. His thoughts were centered about oneman, Don del Valle, the richest banana grower in all that land. He atonce went about the task of finding the man and securing an interview.Having discovered the dapper, black-eyed Guatemalan sitting in his gardensipping wine, he wasted no time on ceremony but, boy-like, launched atonce into his project.
The astonished del Valle, who understood only a part of what was said andwho was accustomed to inflict long periods of waiting and numerousdelays, stared at him in astonishment for a time. Then he demanded:
"What is it that this mad boy wants?"
"Bananas! I want bananas!" Johnny exclaimed.
"Well then, go and buy them, as many as you like." del Valle threw ahandful of coppers at his feet.
"But I want many. Two-thirds of a ship load, twenty thousand bunches."Johnny's face took on an air of unusual seriousness.
"But I have no bananas to sell. They are contracted for, as you shouldknow, by your great American company."
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nbsp; "But not the six hands." Johnny exclaimed eagerly. "I only ask for sixhands."
"Six hands!" the Guatemalan exclaimed in a fit of passion. "Six hands!Here, take this crazy youth to jail. I will prefer a charge of annoying agentleman."
The two native policemen, who were in reality the official guard of thegreat gentleman, sprang into action. Ten minutes later Johnny foundhimself inside looking out, and the window he looked through was heavilybarred. So it was that Johnny Thompson came to be in jail.