"Ah! you Inglésas!" he said.
"I'm an Irishman, señor: that's worse."
"Well, señor, I must thank you for your hospitality and take my leave. I wish you every success, and a large share of the sunlight of prosperity. I only regret that by your reluctance to support me you are helping to let loose the forces of lawlessness and giving hostages to brigandage--in fact, breeding worms that will eat into the tissues of industrial enterprise. I bid you good-day, señor."
Mr. O'Hagan was not impressed by the Prefect's picturesque language. Tall talk is the foible of Peruvians. But after he had seen the last of his visitor, he returned to the house in a state of intense irritation. His wife was awaiting him in the patio.
"He wants to bleed me," he said angrily: "demanded a trifle of £1000. This country is a hot-bed of corruption. And I wish that motor-cycle were at the bottom of the sea."
"Why, dear," said Mrs. O'Hagan placably, "what has that to do with it?"
"It gives the fellow an excuse for saying that I'm on the side of the Mollendists. Why do you let me spoil that boy, Rose?"
Mrs. O'Hagan smiled, remembering that she had begged her husband to wait until Tim was a little older before giving him the motor-cycle. Wisely she did not remind him of that, but simply said:
"Don't worry, dear. Things mayn't be so bad as you think.... And Tim is not really spoilt, you know."
CHAPTER IV