Meanwhile, Dick, wandering through Callao until the time came to call for Maria-Teresa, was strolling up the Calle de Lima. He had just come from the Darsena docks, where the harbor engineers had been giving him news the reverse of cheerful. In the present condition of the country, they said, any venture in the deserted gold-mines of the Cuzco was hopeless.
The last two days had brought news of fighting from the other end of the country. Or, at all events, cartridges were being used up, even if there was no attendant damage. Everybody had thought Garcia feasting at Arequipa, but the pretender had evaded his enemies and attacked the Republican forces between Sicuani and the Cuzco. It was even rumored that Cuzco itself had fallen into his hands.
Were all this true, the outlook for Dick’s affairs was bad. His company, thanks to the influence of the Marquis de la Torre, had obtained a concession from President Veintemilla, This would not be worth the paper it was written on if Garcia proved victorious. Super-active by nature, the young engineer could not endure the thought of the long months of enforced idleness before him until the revolution had been settled in one way or another.
As he came into the Calle de Lima, Dick pulled out his watch. He found that he still had a few minutes to spare. Much as she loved him, Maria-Teresa did not like being interrupted at her work, so he turned into the Circulo de los Amigos de las Artes for a drink. This establishment, though baptized a club, was in reality a huge café and reading-room. The ground floor was packed with people discussing the latest events. Cuzco was in every mouth, and it was noticeable that Veintemilla’s warmest partizans now had a good word to say for Garcia.
A stampede of shock-headed newsboys, shouting the latest edition of an official paper, tore past the café, scattering still wet sheets and collecting coppers. One of the customers climbed onto a table and read out a proclamation by the President, urging calm and giving a categorical denial to the report of the capture of Cuzco. General Garcia and his troops, the President announced, were bottled up in Arequipa, all the sierra defiles were in the hands of Government troops, and the traitors would be hurled into the sea or chased into the great sand deserts. The proclamation concluded with a reference to Indian troubles in the suburbs, attributing them to the usual Interaymi effervescence, and dismissing them as negligible. Cheers for the President ended the reading of his manifesto. Wavering allegiances were at once restored, and it was generally agreed that his statement was superb.
Dick left the café a little happier, though he did not really place a great deal of faith in the official denial. Night had fallen and he walked briskly, now fearing that he might be late. As he went, he remembered his first day’s walk through this same labyrinth of narrow streets. Then he caught sight of his fiancée’s verandah in the distance, and noticed that the window was open, as on the first day.
There she sat, the little business-woman, with her brass-covered green registers. What a manly little brain it was! And to think that the pair of them had been such fools over that Golden Sun bracelet... Something to laugh about in after years, that!
“Hello, Maria-Teresa!”
There was no answer, and Dick walked up to the window.
“Maria-Teresa!”