“Then your father is dead?” asked Professor Strong.
“Yes, he died but four months ago. He took a trip to Nicaragua, and the journey was too hard for him. He left me utterly alone. But I should not bother you with my family afflictions. You are of course stopping in Caracas.”
“Yes,” and Professor Strong mentioned the hotel.
“You must come to my home—it is just outside of the city, on the road to Valencia. I am alone there with the servants and I will be pleased to have company, and doubly pleased that it is you. You must make the home your own.”
“We shall be pleased to call,” said Professor Strong.
“Why cannot you go there this evening, after the session is over here?” urged Enrique Morano. “We must talk of old times, must we not? Your pupils can inspect the coffee plantation which my late father purchased just before he died. It is now mine, but I must confess I know not what to do with it. I am no planter. I am but a civil engineer and—a hunter, like yourself,” and the Spanish teacher laughed.
“We will go, and gladly,” answered Amos Strong. “I wish the boys to examine a coffee plantation thoroughly.”
“Will you be at the hotel at five o’clock? If so I will send my carriage for you.”
So it was arranged, and in a moment more they left the class room, for while the conversation was going on the place had been filling with pupils, many of whom stared curiously at the strangers.
“A nice man,” was Darry’s comment when they were outside. He turned to the professor: “I don’t wonder you took to him for a college friend.”