As the Americans looked about the well-built station, they found that this was a city of considerable importance. Crowds of people, clusters of business houses, and—what was more interesting to them—automobiles dotted the streets.
“Where there’s a motorcar there’s gasoline!” cried Bob joyfully. “Now who says we won’t put fuel in the airplane tank!”
They found a filling station—or at least a place where gasoline was sold—not far away and lost no time in having the can filled to capacity. Then they turned back to the railroad station.
“Our business in this city is completed in five minutes, after having made a four-hour trip here!” Bob could not help bursting out in laughter, and Mr. Wallace joined him.
They entered the railroad station and inquired when they might board a train back to Calamar.
Much to their displeasure, they found that it would not be possible to do so until the next morning. The agent explained that it was necessary to repair a portion of the track, and that until this was completed, a run could not be made.
“Just as I expected!” groaned Bob, sitting down on the seat hopelessly. “To save your neck you can’t make time in South America.”
“What will we do to while the time away?” asked the naturalist.
“Look around, I suppose. Nothing else to do.”
The Americans found Cartagena very interesting. Its several industries were throbbing with life; its people were possessed of a certain amount of energy and ambition that was entirely absent farther inland.