Cock-fighting is the single amusement of that population, besides drink, of course, and the single interest of its ministers—most of them, at least. This padre could talk of nothing else. It was not a subject that amused Roezl, but he knew something of that as of all else that pertains to life in those countries. The dullest of mortals could not help gathering information about cocks and their ways in a lifetime of travel up and down Spanish America; the most observant, such as this, must needs collect a vast deal of experience. But Roezl was not interested in his companion.
Not, that is, until he reached the village. The Cura had invited him to his house—so to call an adobe building of two rooms, without upper floor. It stood beside the church, hardly less primitive. Roezl glanced at the roof of this structure in passing. It has been mentioned that the Indians have a pleasant custom of removing any orchid they find, notable for size or beauty, to set on the church roof or on trees around it. In the course of his long wanderings Roezl had bought or begged several fine plants from a padre, but only when the man was specially reckless or specially influential with his parishioners. The practice dates from heathen times, and the Indians object to any desecration of their offerings.
It was with curiosity rather than hope, therefore, that Roezl scrutinised the airy garden. There were handsome specimens of Cattleya—Skinneri most frequent, of course—Lycaste, Oncidium, and Masdevallia. They had done blooming mostly, but a belated flower showed here and there. In one big clump he saw something white—looked more closely—paused. The plant was Cattleya Skinneri certainly. How should a white flower be there?
All other collectors, perhaps, at that time, would have passed on, taking it for granted that some weed had rooted itself amid the clump. But for many years Roezl had been preaching that all Cattleyas of red or violent tint, so to class them roughly, must make albino ‘sports.’ I believe he had not one instance to cite in proof of his theory, which is a commonplace now. A wondrous instinct guided him—the same which predicted that an Odontoglossum of extraordinary character would be found in a province he had never entered, where, years afterwards, the striking Odont. Harryanum was discovered. Men talked of Roezl’s odd fancy with respect, but very few heeded it.
He tried various points of view, but nowhere could the flower be seen distinctly. After grumbling and fuming a while the Cura left him, and presently he followed. That reverend person was an object of interest now. At the first opportunity Roezl mentioned that he was seeking a white Flor de San Sebastian, as they name Cattleya Skinneri, for which he would pay a good sum, and asked if there were any in the neighbourhood.
The Cura replied at once, ‘You won’t get one here. Many years ago my people found one in the forest, but they never saw another before or since.’
‘What did they do with it?’ Roezl asked breathlessly.
‘Fixed it on the church, of course.’
The man was stupid, but in those parts an idiot can see any opening for trade. To suppose that a cock-fighting Guatemalan priest could have scruples about stripping his church would be grotesque. If he did not snatch at the chance to make money, when told that the stranger would pay for his whim, it must be because the removal of that plant would be so hazardous that he did not even think of it. Roezl dropped the subject.
They ate—more especially, they drank. The leading men of the village came in to hear the sad story of the cock-fight. Not one word on any other topic was spoken until they withdrew to bed. But Roezl was not bored after a while. So soon as he grasped the situation, his quick wits began speculating and contriving means to tempt the Padre. And as he listened to the artless if not innocent discourse of these rustics, gradually a notion formed itself.