Gale felt somewhat uncomfortable, suspecting that what he heard must be irony. But there was no mistaking the sincerity of the other’s manner, and, as soon as he was convinced of this, the News man grasped the outstretched hand with well-simulated cordiality. He was greatly puzzled by this queer situation, but, possessing remarkable rallying powers, he quickly recovered his self-possession. “Don’t mention it, Hawley, old fellow,” he said, “I am glad to see you free. Who told you that I had a hand in getting you out?” he inquired, his manner implying that he would greatly have preferred to have his good act shrouded in anonymity.
“Portiforo told me,” was the amazing answer.
“The deuce!” Gale muttered. “I can’t understand why he should have told you that?”
“Isn’t it true?” the other exclaimed, in an astonished tone.
The reporter smiled. “Oh, yes; it’s true enough. When I heard about your being in trouble, I figured that my pull with Portiforo might do you some good, so I hiked to the palace and did my little best to give you a boost. But,” he added, with a show of vexation, “I can’t understand why the president should have told you of my humble efforts. He promised that he wouldn’t mention it.”
“I’m glad that he did,” the Camera Chap said impulsively. “It was a mighty decent thing for you to do, Gale, considering that the relations between us have been—er—somewhat strained. Without meaning any offense, I’d like to know why you did it?”
The News man shrugged his shoulders. “After all, blood is thicker than water,” he responded sentimentally. “I couldn’t stand by and see a countryman of mine made a target for Baracoan bullets, when it was in my power to save him, even though that countryman hadn’t acted quite fairly to me in the past. Hang it all! I flatter myself I’m big enough to do a good turn even for an enemy.”
“Well, we’re not going to be enemies any longer,” the good-natured snapshot expert declared, once more impulsively offering his hand to his supposed benefactor, who accepted it without a qualm.
Lieutenant Ridder, who had encountered Hawley outside the national palace, and accompanied him to the steamship office, had listened to this conversation with some surprise. “Who’s your friend, Frank?” he inquired with a frown, after they had left Gale. “I can’t say that I’m stuck on his looks. On first impression, I’d size him up as a mighty slippery proposition. And as for owing your liberty to him, I think you’re mistaken about that. I know of somebody else who deserves most of the credit.”
“Who is he?” the Camera Chap demanded eagerly.