“What is cacao?” asked Frank.
“That is only another name for cocoa, Newton. Cocoa often grows in a wild state, but the beans are not as large as when cultivated. In some districts, where money is scarce, cocoa beans are used instead in buying and selling. A native will gather all the beans he can in a little bag and then come into town and barter them for whatever he wants—and there was a time when he could pay his taxes in beans.”
“Well, that isn’t so very strange,” put in Darry. “In revolutionary times in our own country, they used to pay taxes and other demands in corn and grain.”
“Yes, and they pay taxes now, in country places, by working on the public highways,” added Frank.
The walk around the cocoa plantation proved full of interest, and when it was concluded and they had taken some of the bitter-sweet beans from a tree as souvenirs the proprietor of the place invited them to lunch in his summer-house, an affair built in true German style under the wide spreading branches of a royal palm.
“In my gartenlaube you shall drink chocolate that is chocolate,” said their host. “Not the chocolate you often get at home, adulterated with pipe-clay or something like that, but that which is made from the pure bean mixed with the cleanest of sugar.”
He was as good as his word, and with the creamy chocolate came German coffee-cake equally good. All of the boys drank the chocolate eagerly, and Frank could not help but smack his lips over it.
“I never tasted anything better,” he declared. “If I could get it as good at home I’d never touch coffee again,” and Mark said the same.
Their host was a talkative man, and wished to know all about their proposed trip up the river.
“You will see many interesting sights,” he said. “I have been up twice—four years ago and two years ago. The last time I went up the natives were having a bitter quarrel among themselves and I had all I could do to keep out of trouble. But generally they are very friendly and will do anything for you if you pay them fair wages.”