"When I was your age I wouldn't have taken the onza back. I'd have kept the money and my faith with the president; in fact, in those days, I kept anything I could get. Now the other fellow knows what you're like, I reckon he'll find the owner of the coin."
Adam went off after the president, and Kit pondered. A few days later, he sat one evening at a small table outside the café Bolivar. The café was badly lighted, hot, and full of flies. There was no door or window, and a few wooden pillars divided the low room from the pavement, which was strewn with cigarette ends and cardboard matches. In front, small palms, and eucalyptus lined the dusty alameda, where groups of citizens walked up and down. Inside the café somebody sang a Spanish song and played a guitar. It was not cool on the pavement, although a faint breeze made the palms rustle. The air was heavy and a smell of aniseed and new rum hung about the spot.
Presently a man who had been playing dominos got up and came to Kit's table. He was a white man, with pale blue eyes and yellow hair, and although rather fat he carried himself well. Kit had met Olsen before, and he nodded when he sat down.
"Nothing doing at the casino and the place was very hot," he said. "Besides, I don't quite trust the man who runs the bank. Taking them all round, these folks are clever crooks."
Kit agreed languidly and noted the order Olsen gave the half-breed landlord. The fellow did not look as if he indulged much, but Kit thought a large glass of the strong liquor was not often asked for. As a rule, the Americans he had met on the Caribbean coast were abstemious, while the half-breeds and Spaniards were satisfied with small copitas of fiery spirits distilled from the sugar cane. The English, German, and Scandinavian adventurers consumed them freely, and perhaps the Germans drank the most.
"How do you like it here?" Olsen resumed when he put down his glass.
"It's a country that soon palls. Are you staying long?"
"I can't tell," said Kit, who decided not to state that he knew the country. "You see, I'm not in command."
"No," said Olsen. "I suppose you're a relation of the Buccaneer?"
"A poor relation. He gave me a lift when I needed it."
Olsen laughed. "Well, I guess he makes you hustle. A pretty lively old pirate, if all one hears is true! I reckon they don't call him the Buccaneer for nothing, but it's hinted that he's beginning to lose his grip. I see your copita's empty. Will you take another drink?"