"The foreigners pay for what they get."
"Yes," said the priest; "but where does the money go? If it were spent on the development of the country, one would not complain; but it is gamblers and courtezans who benefit. Those who hold office here fill their pockets from the public purse, and what is left when they are satisfied is needed to keep the Government in power."
"Then, why do you not reform your administration and put in straight men?"
Father Agustin indicated the drowsy group at the back of the café.
"These are our politicians! They meet every day and ruminate over the affairs of the nation. Think of it!"
"Well," said Walthew, "they do not look busy; but things do happen here now and then."
"It is true. A clique breaks up, there is a new coalition, and those who plotted each other's downfall are united again. We Latins have seldom a continuous policy. Sometimes there is a tumult in the streets and disaffection among the troops; then the man who rules us uses the whip. One hears of no trial, but a malcontent is missing, an officer's duty takes him to the fever jungles, where he cannot live. Sometimes, before the morning mist has lifted, one is wakened by a volley in the ditch behind the citadel."
"You are a patient race," Grahame remarked.
"Not so," said Father Agustin. "We often dream when we should act, but sometimes we act too soon. It is our misfortune that we do not know how to wait for the right moment." He paused and indicated the thinned-out ranks of pawns on the chessboard. "It is like that in the game of politics! The fight is between the greater pieces, but these others fall."
Grahame lighted a cigarette and glanced about the square, for Rio Frio was waking up. Here and there a woman of mixed blood crouched beside a cast-iron pot, fanning the handful of charcoal in it, ready for cooking the evening meal. A team of mules hauled a heavy load across the hot paving stones, a gaunt, dark-faced man in ragged cotton walking at the leaders' heads. Then came a pack train, with jingling bells, a cloud of flies following the burdened animals, and dusty, barefooted peasants plodding by their side. A group of women appeared from the mouth of a narrow street, their faces wet with perspiration and straps across their foreheads supporting the big cane baskets on their backs. After them came a negro with a great tray of fruit upon his head. Next, three or four lean, barefooted fellows with ragged palm-leaf hats seated themselves on the pavement in a strip of shadow. They sat there, silent and motionless, contemplating the scene with listless eyes. The crowd looked dully apathetic, there was languor in the air they breathed; but, after all, they claimed descent from Spanish stock and Grahame thought they could be roused. It does not need much fanning to wake the smoldering fire in the Iberian's veins.