Ricardo came over and kissed his sister. “Don't be a lobster, Jack,” he protested. “I dislike foolish questions.” And he pressed his friend's hand with a fervour that testified to his pleasure.
“I'm sorry to crowd in at a time like this, Jack,” he continued, with a hug for Dolores, “but Mr. What-you-may-call-him, the American consul, has called to pay his respects. As a fellow-citizen of yours, he is vitally interested in your welfare. Would you care to receive him for a few minutes?”
“One minute will do,” Webster declared with emphasis. “Show the human slug up, Rick.”
Mr. Lemuel Tolliver tripped breezily in with outstretched hand. “My dear Mr. Webster,” he began, but Webster cut him short with a peremptory gesture.
“Listen, friend Tolliver,” he said. “The only reason I received you was to tell you I'm going to remain in this country awhile and help develop it. I may even conclude to grow up with it. I shall not, of course, renounce my American citizenship; and of course, as an American citizen, I am naturally interested in the man my country sends to Sobrante to represent it. I might as well be frank and tell you that you won't do. I called on you once to do your duty, and you weren't there; I told you then I might have something to say about your job later on, and now I'm due to say it. Mr. Tolliver, I'm the power behind the throne in this little Jim-crow country, and to quote your own elegant phraseology, you, as American consul, are nux vomica to the Sobrantean government. Moreover, as soon as the Sobrantean ambassador reaches Washington, he's going to tell the President that you are, and then the President will be courteous enough to remove you. In the meantime, fare thee well, Mr. Consul.”
“But, Mr. Webster——”
“Vaya!”
Mr. Tolliver, appreciating the utter futility of argument, bowed and departed.
“Verily, life grows sweeter with each passing day,” Webster murmured whimsically. “Rick, old man, I think you had better escort the Consul to the front door. Your presence is nux vomica to me also. See that you back me up and dispose of that fellow Tolliver, or you can't come to our wedding—can he, sweetheart?”
When Ricardo had taken his departure, laughing, John Stuart Webster looked up quite seriously at his wife-to-be. “Can you explain to me, Dolores,” he asked, “how it happened that your relatives and your father's old friends here in Sobrante, whom you met shortly after your arrival, never informed you that Ricardo was living?”