In the meantime, Jake stayed in the patio with the others. A thin, dark Spaniard, who spoke English well, and two Americans occupied the other side of the table; a fat German sat nearly opposite the Spaniard and next to Jake. The heat made them languid and nobody wanted to play cards, although there was a pack on the table. This happened oftener than Brandon thought.
“It’s a depressing night and an enervating country,” Kenwardine remarked. “I wonder why we stay here as we do, since we’re apt to leave it as poor as when we came. The people are an unstable lot, and when you’ve spent your time and energy developing what you hope is a profitable scheme, some change of policy or leaders suddenly cuts it short.”
“I guess that explains why we are here,” one of the Americans replied. “The South is the home of the dramatic surprise and this appeals to us. In the North, they act by rule and one knows, more or less, what will happen; but this gives one no chances to bet upon.”
The fat German nodded. “It is the gambler’s point of view. You people take with pleasure steep chances, as they say, but mine act not so. The system is better. One calculates beforehand what may happen and it is provided for. If things do not go as one expects, one labors to change them, and when this is not possible adopts an alternative plan.”
“But there always is a plan, Señor Richter!” the Spaniard remarked.
Richter smiled. “With us, I think that is true. Luck is more fickle than a woman and we like not the surprise. But our effort is to be prepared for it.”
“You’re a pretty hard crowd to run up against,” said the other American.
Jake, who had taken no part in the recent talk, and leaned languidly back in his chair, turned his head as he heard footsteps in the patio. They were quick and decided, as if somebody was coming straight towards the table, but they stopped suddenly. This seemed strange and Jake, who had caught a glimpse of a man in white clothes, looked round to see if Kenwardine had made him a sign. The latter, however, was lighting his pipe, but the Spaniard leaned forward a little, as if trying to see across the patio. Jake thought he would find this difficult with the light of the lamp in his eyes, but Richter, who sat opposite, got up and reached across the table.
“With excuses, Don Sebastian, but the wine is on your side,” he said, and filled his glass from the decanter before he sat down.
In the meantime the man who had come in was waiting, but seemed to have moved, because Jake could only see an indistinct figure in the gloom.