On their way up the river the Americans had passed, at long intervals, a few small rubber estates, whose headquarters consisted mainly of a crude shack or two, hardly better than the dingy houses of Remate de Males. This place was more imposing. They had observed, while crossing the cleared space, that it was at least half a mile square; that its warehouse for supplies was big and solid; that a goodly number of barracaos, or rubber workers' huts, surrounded the house of the master at a respectful distance; and that the owner's home was no one-room cabin, but big enough to contain six or eight rooms. This well-appointed reception room and the formal yet sincere courtesy of its owner showed that Coronel Nunes was no mere native of the frontier. Later they were to learn that he was a gentleman of Rio who, exiling himself from the capital after the death of his wife, had carved from this forbidding jungle a fortune in the rubber trade.
With the correct touch of Latin punctilio McKay spoke the introductions and stated that they were on their way upriver to explore the hinterland. With equal politeness the coronel bowed and begged his illustrious guests to be seated. Then he touched a small bell. A door at one side opened and a white-suited negro appeared.
"Café," the coronel ordered. As speedily as if these visitors had been long expected, the servant brought in a tray bearing cups of syrupy coffee. Each of the guests accepted one. Whereafter the decorum of the occasion was shattered by Tim, who, at the imminent risk of scalding himself, gulped his refreshment and vociferated his satisfaction.
"O-o-oh boy! That hits right where I live! Gimme another one, feller, and make it man's size!"
The black fellow struggled with his quick mirth and then laughed outright—the throaty, infectious laugh of his race. The coronel's eyes twinkled. And when Tim fished a damp cigarette from his shirt, nonchalantly scraped a match on his host's table, blew a cloud of smoke, and sprawled back with one leg dangling over a chair arm, formality went a-glimmering.
"A quem madruga Deus ajuda," laughed the coronel. "Or, as you North Americans put it, 'God helps those who help themselves.' Let us not be ceremonious, gentlemen. 'Tonio, bring more coffee. And cigars. And—"
Down behind his table, where only the servant saw the motion, he twitched a finger as if pulling a cork. 'Tonio, his ebony countenance split by a grin, ducked his head and vanished into the other room.
"How is the rubber market, sir?" asked Knowlton, seeking to divert attention from Tim.
"Not so good," the old gentleman replied, with a deprecatory gesture. "In truth, it is very poor since the war—so poor that soon I shall abandon this seringal and go out to spend the rest of my life on the coast. With rubber selling at a mere five hundred dollars a ton in New York and the artificial plantations of the Far East growing greater yearly, there is no longer much profit in bleeding the wild trees of our jungle. I really do not know why I stay here now, unless it is because I have become so much accustomed to this life."
"Why, I understood that there was much money in rubber!"