"Then I'll let you put in a word here and there," replied his friend, in a kind tone. "Why, Peter, I'd do anything to please you. Didn't I think you were knocked out of time, entirely. Manuel, are the wires right?"
"Yes, Señor," replied the operator, a dark alert-looking man; "all safe to Truxillo!"
"Bueno! Then they will be safe to England. Truxillo is in Honduras, and is as right as the Bank. Come, Jack, begin at once!"
They were over two hours at this business as, what with Jack's roundabout descriptions and Peter's interruptions, it took some time for Tim to get the story ship-shape. Then Manuel was constantly wiring the intelligence, as transmitted to him by Tim, who took full advantage of the licence given by his editor to send extensive telegrams. It was close on six o'clock when he finished, and he was just stretching himself with a yawn after his long spell of sitting, when outside a murmur began. It rapidly swelled into a roar and the three friends rushed out of the office to learn what new event had taken place. The telegraph-office was situated in the street which ran straight to the land-gate, and down this street they saw advancing a dense body of men.
"Vivas los soldatos! Viva el Republico!"
"Hurrah!" roared Tim, wildly, "'tis the reinforcements!"
"There's Philip!" cried Jack, pushing his way through the crowd.
"And wounded!" said Peter, noticing with a true professional eye that Cassim's left arm hung useless by his side.
The Janjalla Band, stationed in the Plaza, burst out into the patriotic strains of the "Opal Fandango," the crowd yelled and cheered, the soldiers tramped steadily down the street; and Tim, to the imminent danger of his life, flung himself almost under the feet of Philip's horse.
"Philip, my dear boy! Here we are."