Flannagan was speechless for a moment. The tin-type man pointed his camera at the purple dress, and was going to take a misanthropic photograph, and David went and stood on his head before her, so that she laughed harder: “Ho! ho! haw! haw!” and spread out her hands, which had two rings to a finger, and the mixed stones of her necklace clicked together with her laughter.
“Put up yer camery, typist” says Flannagan, getting hold of his diplomacy. “None of your contimptimous photographs of the lady. Sure,” he says, “it's wid great discomposure I'm taken to be treatin' so the iligint buttons an' canned-tomato clothes enclosin',” he says, “the milithary an' internal digestion of the husband of yourself,” he says, “as foine a lady, an' that educated, as me eyes iver beheld. 'Tis me impulses,” he says, “'tis me warm an' hearty nature. But your ladyship won't be allowin' a triflin' incident to interfere wid enjoyin' the exhibition by me Japanese frinds of the mystherious art of ancient Asia, an' me that proud of your ladyship's approvin'!”
“What can they do?” she says, looking interested, while the three Japanese bowed in a limber manner, and smiled thin and mystical Asiatic smiles.
“Oh, hivins!” said Flannagan. “Oh, that I might see thim again for the first time, in the bloom of me innocence of marvels! For a thousand years by the imerald seas of the Orient,” he says,—and then one of them bent backward, and brought his head up between his legs, and smiled; and the purple dress fell against the wall with pleasure and surprise.
“Come after me,” she says, opening a door in the corridor, “heretofore the arrival of my pig husband.”
We went up twisting staircases that appeared unaccountable and weren't counted. We saw furnished rooms through open doors, and at last we came to a large room, high up under a tower, and looking out over the Plaza, and in another direction over the roofs of La Libertad. It seemed to be unused, and was darkened with shutters, and littered with the miscellaneous and upset furniture of past administrations.
The Minister of Military and Internal Peace was named “Georgio Bill,” from which a man might argue the origins of his family. The purple dress was called “Madame Bill,” because French titles were popular with the official ladies. She left us there in a stately manner, and then fell down the stairs through mixing her feet. She was dignified and cheerful, but she had large feet.
Through the shutters we saw the Plaza beginning to stir with the evening crowds. A few blocks over the flat roofs of houses, we saw the harbour, and the Annalee floating at anchor.
When Madame Bill came back she brought with her two negresses with baskets, who straightened the furniture and laid the table. The shutters were closed, and a lamp or two lit, and we dined sumptuous to the elegant dialogue of Flannagan and Madame Bill. “For a thousand years,” says Flannagan, “by the imerald seas of the Orient”; and the Japanese did moderate after-dinner tumbling, with mild but curious bow-knots. David marched and saluted, and after that he climbed into his chair, and got his pipe, which Flannagan lit for him; he got it fixed between his teeth, laid his head on his paws, pulled a few puffs, and went to sleep. He was a calm one, David, as I said, and ingenious, and experienced. Madame Bill lit her cheroot thoughtful, and there was conversation.
“The Senor Bill,” she says, “is at the present pursuing the foreigners throughout Rosalia and La Libertad with a portion of the Guadaloupean army. It was not wise to cast the Minister of Military and Internal Peace so upon his digestion, which is to him important. But without doubt you are distinguished and experienced, especially the Senor David. They will not look for you perhaps here, which is over my apartments, but will attack, it may be, the ship of your coming here, and in that way be imbecile and foolish.”