“Pablo Orcullu!” Shell remarked. “Recognized leader of the Filipino people. Some think him very strong—but notice that stoop in the shoulders, the scholars’ stoop! That’s Pablo’s kismet. He may scheme ever so splendidly, but when his moment comes that will hold him back. His kind haven’t learned to think largely and act largely simultaneously.
“Orcullu,” he added, “admires Barry. He owned a big dead old city down South, and he sent for Barry to come down and help him build it over in fine new cement. He says Barry is the biggest white man in the East.
“The sad little fat fellow? De Cadegas. They said in Europe, where he studied, that he had one of the finest voices in the world. But there was the Tobacco Factory which spelled the universe in dollars to his parents; so the nightingale of the East counts tobacco leaves.”
The first float now emerged into view upon the river, through fantastically light foliage. It brought the Governor to his feet with an exclamation. Crimson silken sails, like the enormous petals of a flower outspread to the night, glided beneath them. In the boat stood a conclave of Moro chieftains in their vivid costumes of coral red, tight velvet trousers and jackets buttoned with gold coins, with turbans and gorgeous serongs, and brightly cruel spears and curved swords.
Julie gave a little cry as she recognized one of the figures—Dicky-Dicky, the dwarf of Isabel’s household, in the glittering regalia of a rajah, his small person redolent with princely dignity.
“That scrap of a man was actually a Rajah once!” Governor Shell leaned down to inform her. “It lasted only a few months, unfortunately for history, for I hear he made a wise and progressive ruler. The real Rajah, Bulai, was, by a queer chance, also a dwarf, and in appearance very nearly the twin of the captured Visayan slave. Bulai was a timid prince, afraid of his responsibilities; so between the two mannikins it was cooked up that Dicky-Dicky should impersonate the Rajah.
“The tribe, however, found it out, and it was from a particularly undesirable end that Dicky-Dicky was saved, through the medium of a vast amount of gold, by our friend Isabel, who happened to be visiting somewhere thereabouts.”
“And so poor Dicky-Dicky will never reign again!”
“Oh, I don’t know. He may break out again. He may have his kingdom reëstablished by the government that Isabel plans.”
Up the river now was coming a caricature of the Archipelago. Queen Philippinitis in crown and robe with unstockinged feet and flapping slippers cocked shockingly up before her, and smoking a dreadful cigar a yard long. Under her arm she hugged a huge bespurred cock. She was politely ignored by the official party, but was everywhere else hailed with vociferous appreciation.