Alfonso looked at me intently.
“Have you sold it to my father?” he asked in a low voice.
“Not yet,” said I, laughing. “But, as Señor de Jiminez told you, we are considering the matter.”
“You know why we want it?”
“‘We’?” I repeated. “Are you also a conspirator—pardon me, a patriot—then?”
“I am a De Jiminez,” he returned proudly. “After my father I am entitled to rule over Colombia.”
“To rule? That savors of monarchy. I thought Colombia is a republic.”
“You are quite right. It is a republic—as Mexico is; as Venezuela and Costa Rica are. But the president has great power. Is not Diaz equal to a king?”
“I am not very well posted on South American or Mexican politics,” I replied evasively. “But from what your father said I imagine there is already a president in Colombia.”
He gave a frown at this, amusingly like his father’s frown. Then his face cleared and he said: