Wilson saw the features of a girl of twenty, a good profile of rather a Southern cast, and a certain poise of the head which marked her as one with generations of equally good features back of her.
If not decidedly beautiful, she was most attractive, giving an impression of an independent nature enlivened with humor. It seemed to Wilson that she might furnish a very good balance to Danbury.
“You lose the best part of her,” said Danbury, reseating himself on the bunk. “You can’t see the eyes and–––”
Danbury roused himself and sat on the edge of the bunk leaning far forward, elbows on knees, gazing steadily at Wilson.
“Say, those eyes do keep a fellow up, don’t they? I had only to see them once to know that I’d fight for them as long as I lived. Queer what a girl’s eyes––the girl’s eyes––will do. I’ll never forget that first time. She was sitting in one of those palm-filled cafés where the sun sprinkles in across the floor. She was dressed in black, not a funeral black, but one of those fluffy things that make crêpe look like royal 145 purple. She had a rose, a long-stemmed rose, in her bodice, and one of those Spanish lace things over her hair. I can see her now,––almost reach out and touch her. I went in and took a table not far away and ordered a drink. Then I watched her out of the corner of my eye. She was with an older woman, and, say––she didn’t see a man in that whole room. As far as they were concerned they might have been so many flies buzzing round among the palms. Then a couple of government officers lounged in and caught sight of her. They all know her down there ’cause she is of the blood royal. Her grandmother’s sister was the last queen and was murdered in cold blood. Yes, sir, and there weren’t men enough there to get up and shoot the bunch who did it. Pretty soon these fellows began to get fresh. She didn’t mind them, but after standing it as long as she decently could, she rose and prepared to go out.
“Go out, with an American in the place? Not much! There was a row, and at the end of it they carried the two officers off on a stretcher. Then they pinched me and it cost me $500 to get out.
“But it gave me the chance to meet her later on and learn all about how she had been cheated out of her throne. You see the trouble was that republics had been started all around Carlina,––they grow down there like mushrooms,––so that soon some of these chumps thought they must go and do the same thing, although everything was going finely and they were twice as prosperous under their 146 queen as the other fellows were under their grafting presidents. Then one of the wild-eyed ones stabbed Queen Marguerite, her grandaunt, you know, and the game was on. Isn’t it enough to make your blood boil? As a matter of fact, the whole blamed shooting-match wouldn’t make a state the size of Rhode Island, so it isn’t worth much trouble except for the honor of the thing. There is a bunch of men down there who have kept the old traditions alive by going out into the streets and shooting up the city hall every now and then, but they’ve mostly got shot themselves for their pains,––which hasn’t done the princess any good. I studied the situation, and the more I thought of her getting done in this way, the madder I got. So I made up my mind she should have her old throne back. She said she didn’t want it, but that was only because she didn’t want me to get mixed up in it. At first it did look like a kind of dubious enterprise, but I prowled around and then I discovered a trump card. Up in the hills there is a bunch of wild Indians who have always balked at a republic, mostly because the republic tried to clean them out just to keep the army in practice.
“But the Chief, the Grand Mogul and priest of them all, is this same man Stubbs doesn’t like––the same who, for some devilish reason of his own chose this particular time to sail for South America. But he isn’t a bad lot, this Valverde, though he is a queer one. He speaks English like a native and has ways that at times make me think he is half American. But 147 he isn’t––he is a heathen clear to his backbone, with a heathen heart and a heathen temper. When he takes a dislike to a man he’s going to make it hot for him some day or other. It seems that he is particularly sore against the government now because of a certain expedition sent up there a little over a year ago, and because of the loss of a heathen idol which–––”
“What?” broke in Wilson, half rising from his chair. “Is this–––”
“The priest, they all call him. Mention the priest down there and they knew whom you mean.”