“He said I have two muscles in one arm.” Rio turned to the black and shook his head. “Fué un engaño—it was a trick!”
The peon grinned and his fellow-workers yelled, “Engaño! Engaño!—Trick! Trick!”
They were still noisy when Rio started for town. Off the edge of the wharf he heard children laughing happily. He noticed that a group of five was huddled around a bunch of bananas which had fallen from a truck. One of the children, a boy, dressed in a clean cotton shirt and ankle-length trousers, had his back to him and was flicking a little whip at the fruit. As Rio walked that way there was a shrill, warning whistle and the boy with the whip turned as though he had been pinched. When he saw Rio however, he straightened up and for a moment surveyed him carefully. Then he modestly lowered his eyes.
“A penny, sir mate?” begged the child.
Rio stared at the boy and struggled to think clearly. The face was that of Martin—the same chin, the same forehead. He had the same way of standing. Yes, he was a dark replica of Martin, much younger and with a more beautiful face—but still the face of his friend. One thing further startled Rio. On each cheekbone of the child was a clearly defined disk of rouge, the size of a dollar.
Rio felt a little angry and spoke roughly.
“What have you done to earn a penny?” he asked.
The boy seemed quietly mischievous and a flush appeared above the rouge. Rio thought he posed against the sunlight.
“If I trap my enemy, sir tarantula, sir,” he said, “then will I earn a penny?”
The rest of the children laughed.