CHAPTER XI
A MODERN DON QUIXOTE
The dining-room of the International Hotel was modern, but while noisy,power-driven fans stirred the heavy air and the decoration was profuse,traces of more austere ancient art remained. Stone pillars and thefretted arch at one end had an Eastern grace and lightness; among thegaudy modern lamps hung one or two finely-modeled in copper and burningscented oil. The glass and nickeled knives were American, but curiousold carafes filled with red and yellow wine stood among the flowers andfruit on the long table.
Evelyn, looking down the room from its opposite end, was conscious offaint displeasure when Grahame entered with a very attractive girl. Thefeeling could not be jealousy, but she studied Blanca with a curiositythat was half hostile. The girl was dressed in Parisian fashion, but shewalked with a grace that only Spanish women show. There was no fault tobe found with her supple figure, but her black hair was rather coarseand her blue eyes too languishing. Yet she was well bred, and the man indark clothes who followed and was, no doubt, her father had an air ofdignity. Grahame seemed to be on friendly terms with them, for theytalked and laughed when they sat down and Evelyn noticed that the girlsometimes touched him coquettishly with her fan.
Walthew sat opposite with a thoughtful expression; and soon Macallisterjoined in the talk. It was obvious that he was amusing, for Evelyn sawthose who sat near smile and then hearty laughter rose from his end ofthe table. The Spanish girl and Grahame no longer spoke to each other,and the engineer's voice came up through the clink of glass and the humof conversation, sometimes in broad Scots and sometimes in stumbling anduncouth Castilian.
When the guests were leaving the dining-room Grahame met Cliffe in thecorridor.
"Glad to see you. I didn't expect to find you in Havana," the Americansaid cordially. "I want a smoke. Will you come along?"
They found a seat in the _patio_, and Cliffe gave Grahame a cigar.
"How's business?" he asked.
"We can't complain, so far," Grahame answered cautiously. "The boat, ofcourse, does not carry much, but her light draught allows her to getinto harbors that larger vessels can only enter on big tides, and wesold our last cargo at a satisfactory price. Just now I'm looking outfor a few passengers to Kingston; there's no boat across for some time."
"I might go with you, if you have two good rooms to spare. There's afruit-growing estate I want to look at in Jamaica."
The suggestion was welcome to Grahame. He promised to give Cliffe partof the deckhouse, and they afterward talked of something else.
In the meanwhile, Walthew was sitting with Blanca Sarmiento. He wasquiet, for he still felt languid and the _patio_ was hot; but he wasconscious of his companion's charm. Indeed, he had thought of her oftensince he left Rio Frio, and she had had a place in the fantastic dreamsthe fever brought him.
"You do not speak much, but you have been ill," she said presently, witha sympathetic glance. "It was a grief to us to hear it; but you havesuffered in a good cause."
"I'm not sure of that," Walthew answered. "You see I was out for money."
"And that was all!" Blanca exclaimed in a half-contemptuous tone.
"I think so," Walthew admitted. "My people are traders and I supposemoney-making runs in the family. Still, I might claim to be a soldier offortune, if you like that better. It's more romantic, anyhow."
"Ah!" she said with a sparkle in her eyes. "There were great soldiers offortune among the liberators; one thinks of Bolivar, Lafayette, andGaribaldi. But the brave Italian had wounds and prison, not money, forhis reward."
"These fellows are too near the top notch for me to follow. I know mylimits," Walthew modestly owned.
"One should follow the highest, and chivalry is not dead; even commercecannot kill it. There are still knights errant, who see visions andleave everything, to right the wrong and help the downtrodden. It hasbeen my good fortune to meet one or two."
"Your Cervantes wrote about one such. Seems to me that although he meantwell, Don Quixote did more harm than good."
"Ah, the sad, sad book! But you think like Cervantes? You sneer atromance?"
"I'm young, senorita, but I try to keep my head." He gave her a steadyglance. "Sometimes I find it difficult."
She laughed with a sparkle of coquetry, and touched him with her fan.
"Then there is hope for you, and we will labor for your conversion. Theman who always keeps his head never does anything great; the power thatmoves the world comes from the heart." Lowering her voice, she went on:"Our cause is just, senor, but we need trustworthy friends, even if theyare not idealists. Quixote failed because he used rusty armor and thelance; we will use rifles."
Walthew was trying to be cautious, but was swept away. He had beenattracted by the girl at their first meeting, though he had then feltsomething of the Anglo-Saxon's prejudice against the southern races,which is not unmarked in the United States. This had gone, however, andhe now wondered whether Blanca meant to use him only to further herfather's objects, or if she had any personal interest in him. Herpatriotism was, he thought, a burning flame, and she would not stick attrifles where she saw a chance of serving her country. Still, it wouldbe his fault if she were willing to get rid of him when he had done hiswork.
"I wonder why you thought I could be trusted?" he said.
"It is difficult to explain, senor, but one can tell, perhaps byinstinct, when a man rings true."
"It would hurt to find you had been deceived?"
"It might be so," she answered slowly.
Walthew wondered if this were mere flirtation, designed to gain an end.Blanca was playing with her fan, which lay in her lap. He could not seeher eyes. He felt that he had been given an opportunity, however, and hemeant to seize it. Leaning forward toward her, he waited until sheraised her eyes to his, and then he spoke in a low, tense voice.
"When I was leaving Rio Frio, I found a crimson rose on the pavement. Ipicked it up because I ventured to think it was meant for me."
Blanca was again playing with her fan, opening and shutting it slowly.
"Senor, it is possible the flower was dropped by mistake," she said,giving him a sidewise glance that made his heart beat fast.
"How--if it was really meant for me?"
She hesitated a moment, and then, raising her head, she met hisinsistent look with a curious smile.
"It was given because I thought you were perhaps, in a way, and as faras it was possible for you, like the great soldiers of fortune we talkedabout."
Walthew made her a ceremonious bow.
"You set me a pretty big task, senorita, but, as far as it's possiblefor me, I will try to make good."
He was thrilled by the look she gave him as she rose and held out herhand.
"Your conversion begins," she said, with a strange, new note in hervoice. "It is a chivalrous resolve, and--you will live up to it, senor."
When she left him, Walthew found Grahame alone in the hotel lounge.
"I promised to let you know whether the malaria would send me home ornot," he said. "I've made up my mind to see the business through."
Grahame grasped his hand cordially.
"I don't know that you are wise, old man; but I am glad to have you,just the same." He gave Walthew a whimsical look. "Haven't you come to adecision rather suddenly?"
"That doesn't matter," said Walthew, "I mean to stick to it."
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