“Oh, no, of course not. Zee brave sailor of Uncle Sam——”
“Never mind that,” interrupted Ned, “you brought us here, you said, to talk to us about something important—what?”
“You young men have heard of the Republic of Costaveza?”
“Of course, that tamale-eating South American merry-go-round,” blurted out Herc, “that’s where the Beale is bound for—so I heard,” he added rather confusedly. He had caught Ned’s eye, and he thought it held a reproof for his outspokenness.
“You are pairfectly right,” assented the other. “Now, there is an opportunity to make what you call zee big money down there, for two bright young men like you.”
“How?” inquired Ned bluntly.
This directness seemed to confuse somewhat the dark-skinned man, who, like most of his race, which was Latin-American, preferred intrigues and dark hints to coming straight to the point.
“Why,” he began, and then paused, as if searching for a word, “by—by keeping zee eyes open.”
“I don’t understand.”