"Nobody can tell you that, but it's to be reckoned with. I understand that your father would take you back?"
"He'd be glad to do so, on his terms," said Walthew thoughtfully. "Still, it's hard to admit that you're beaten, and I suspect the old man would have a feeling that I might have made a better show. He wants me to give in and yet he'd be sorry if I did."
"Suppose you go home in twelve months with a profit on the money he gave you?" Grahame suggested.
"Then I'm inclined to think he'd welcome me on any terms I cared to make."
"Think it over well and leave us out of the question," Grahame said.
"You can't be left out," Walthew answered with a gleam in his eyes. "But I'll wait until I feel better. I may see my way then."
They left him and he lighted his cigarette, though the tobacco did not taste good. Hardship and toil had not daunted him, the risk of shipwreck and capture had given the game a zest, but the foul mangrove quagmires, where the fever lurks in the tainted air, had brought him a shrinking dread. One could take one's chance of being suddenly cut off, but to go home with permanently broken health or perhaps, as sometimes happened, with a disordered brain, was a different thing. Since he took malaria badly, the matter demanded careful thought. In the meanwhile, it was enough to lie in the shade and feel his strength come back.
A few days later they reached Havana, where they sold the dyewood and had arranged to meet Don Martin Sarmiento, whose affairs occasionally necessitated a visit to Cuba.
One evening soon after his arrival, Grahame stood in the patio of the Hotel International. The International had been built by some long-forgotten Spanish hidalgo, and still bore traces of ancient art. The basin in the courtyard with the stone lions guarding its empty fountain was Moorish, the balconies round the house had beautiful bronze balustrades cast three hundred years ago, and the pillars supporting them were delicately light.
The building had, however, been modernized, for part of the patio was roofed with glass, and wide steps, tiled in harsh colors, led to a lounge through which one entered the dining-room, where everything was arranged on the latest American plan. There was a glaring café in the front of the building, and an archway at the back led to the uncovered end of the patio, where porters, pedlers, and the like importuned the guests.