The laugh of the Mexican sent a chill through the body of the listening girl. Instantly she started up, grasping Frank’s arm.
“Come!” she said. “I am cold. Escort me to the cabin, please.”
Del Norte rose, bowing most profoundly and most gracefully.
“Good night, señorita,” he breathed. “May your dreams be as sweet as the dreamer. Good night, Señor Merriwell; but beware lest you dream and awake to regret it!”
CHAPTER XXV
SEÑOR HAGAN.
In spite of Del Norte’s menacing words, Frank slept well that night.
In the morning the Mexican met Merry with the politest manner possible and with the blandest smile. Indeed, his air was one of cordiality, and apparently he declined to be snubbed when Frank gave him something like the cold shoulder.
After breakfast Del Norte was set ashore at Fishmarket Wharf, and he presented an air of tropical comfort as he slowly sauntered into town attired in spotless white garments.
Proceeding to the post office, he had paused to purchase a paper at the news stand in the building when a hand touched him on the arm and he glanced up to see at his side a thick-set, florid-faced man, who was perspiring freely.