‘Not now. He thinks I have forgotten. It’s years ago. I was a boy. But the Castilian never forgets! I will tell you.’
The story was not edifying. It related to a young woman in whom the Cura felt interest. He surprised her in company with Don Hilario and beat the lad.
‘Well,’ said Oversluys, ‘I’m sorry you and the Padre are not friends, because I will have nothing to do with removing orchids from the church unless he bears part in it.’
‘But the pig will want all the money.’
‘You need not tell him how much I am to give you.’
Don Hilario argued, however, until, finding Oversluys immovable, he grew sulky. The fact is that to strip their church against the Indians’ wish would be not a little perilous even though the Cura were implicated; to ignore him would be madness. Collectors have risked it, they say, before and since, but never assuredly unless quite certain that the prize was worth a deadly hazard. In this instance there was no security at all.
As they approached the village Don Hilario brightened up. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘what will you give me?’
Oversluys had no money, but he offered a sum—the amount of which I have not heard—payable in Guatemala city; to be doubled if the orchids should prove white. Don Hilario declined this proposal with oaths; he dared not go to Guatemala city, and he could not trust a friend. The negotiations came to an end. Grumbling and swearing he rode for a while by himself; then fell into silence, and presently rejoined Oversluys quite cheerful. The houses were close by.
‘It’s a bargain, friend,’ he said. ‘Your hand! It’s a bargain!’
‘Good! Now I won’t take my mules with the orchids into the village. Can you lead us round to the other side? There is a hut there, I daresay, where I can leave my men and return with you.’