Our diplomatic and consular corps has sobered up since the days of O. Henry, and the typical representative of our State Department no longer sits in his hammock with a gin bottle, throwing banana peelings at the parrot. But this incident I was able later to verify. And there was one incident more.
“Not long ago, señor, two Americans came over the trail from Guatemala in an automobile, and when asked for their names by our police, they inscribed everything from the Prince of Wales to Jack Johnson. The authorities are tracing them now, and if we catch them, they shall learn what it means to show such insult to El Salvador!”
Salvador was a very pleasant place, but I decided to drift along. Anyhow, news had just arrived that a revolution was threatening in Honduras, the next republic on my itinerary. So I started in haste for Honduras.
CHAPTER XIV
THE REVOLUTION IN HONDURAS
I
I started in haste for Honduras, but haste achieved nothing in these lands.
One of the eccentricities of the average Central-American republic is that the traveler has little difficulty in entering the country, yet having entered, finds his departure balked by countless formalities. Apparently the government is eager to welcome any one, but if it can discover that the visitor is a rapscallion, is determined to add him to the permanent population.
Slipping into Salvador through the back yard, I was not required even to display a passport. On the day preceding my intended departure from the Capital, I learned that I must call upon the Secretary of Foreign Relations, and convince His Excellency of my respectability before I should be permitted to leave.
A pretty señorita in the outer office of the State Department ceased powdering her nose to listen to my plea.
“Cómo no? Why not, señor? If you will kindly return the day after to-morrow—”