“My dear Webster!” cried Andrew Bowers enthusiastically, and he drew his late fellow-passenger into the room. Webster observed that Andrew was not alone. “I want to see you privately,” he said. “Didn't know you had company, or I wouldn't have intruded.”
“Well, I knew I had company, didn't I? Come in, you crazy fellow, and meet some good friends of mine who are very anxious to meet you,” He turned to a tall, handsome, scholarly looking man of about forty, whose features, dress, and manner of wearing his whiskers proclaimed him a personage. “Dr. Eliseo Pacheco, I have the honour to present Mr. John S. Webster, the American gentleman of whom you have heard me speak.”
Doctor Pacheco promptly leaped to his feet and bowed with ostentatious reverence; then suddenly, with Latin impulsiveness, he advanced upon Webster, swept aside the latter's outstretched hand, clasped John Stuart Webster in fraternal embrace, and to the old sour-dough's inexpressible horror, kissed him upon the right cheek—after which he backed off, bowed once more, and said in Spanish:
“Sir, my life is yours.”
“It is well he gave it to you before you took it,” Andrew said in English, and he laughed, noting Webster's confusion. “And this gentleman is Colonel Pablo Caraveo.”
“Thunder, I'm in for it again,” Webster thought—and he was, for the amiable colonel embraced Webster and kissed his left cheek before turning to Andrew.
“You will convey to our guest, in English, Don Ricardo, assurances of my profound happiness in meeting him,” he said in Spanish.
“The Colonel says you're all to the mustard,” Andrew at once interpreted merrily.
“Rather a liberal translation,” Webster retorted in Spanish, whereat Colonel Caraveo sprang up and clapped his hands in delight. Evidently he had looked forward with considerable interest to meeting Webster and had had his contentment clouded by the thought that Andrew's gringo friend could not speak Spanish.
“Your happiness, my dear Colonel,” Webster continued, “is extravagant grief compared with my delight in meeting a Sobrantean gentleman who has no desire to skewer me.” He turned to Andrew. “While introductions are in order, old son, suppose you complete the job and introduce yourself. I'm always suspicious of a man with an alias.”