At noon, some gunners in red fired a noon-gun in front of the palace; instantly throughout the city there came a change in the noise of the day as though everyone had ceased suddenly from work and pattered out to dinner. Hi returned to his hotel, to lunch upon foods which were strange to him: okra, manati, water-melon and a sangaree of limes.
After lunch, he wrote to his mother and to Señora Piranha, to say that he had arrived. Having posted these letters, he set out to the offices of the Sugar Company, to present his letter to Mr. Roger Weycock, who received him very kindly and asked him to dine that night at the Club.
“Do you know any other Englishman here?” he asked.
“I’ve a letter to Mr. Allan Winter.”
“That’s lucky. He’s in town. He was here a few minutes ago; we’ll get him to dine with us. Oh, all the English here belong to the Club; we must see about making you a temporary member. But we’ll go into that to-night, shall we, at the Club?”
At dinner at the Club that night, Mr. Weycock introduced Hi to Mr. Allan Winter, who was a grizzled and rugged soul, of long standing as a sugar-planter.
“I’ll call for you at eight to-morrow,” he said, “and drive you out to my place, where you will see the sort of place it is.” Seeing that Hi was perplexed, he added, “But perhaps you’re doing something else to-morrow.”
“No, thanks, sir,” Hi said, “but I’ve written to a friend to say that I shall be here all day to-morrow.”
“Oh, have you friends in Santa Barbara?” Mr. Weycock asked.