“When your cablegram arrived, Miss Ruey, naturally Mrs. Wilkins was not here to receive it, and as I was the only person who had her address, the cable-agent referred it to me. Under the circumstances, not knowing where I could reach you with a cable informing you that Mrs. Wilkins was headed for California to see you, I had no other alternative but let matters take their course. I decided you might arrive on La Estrellita, so I called to welcome you to our thriving little city, and, as a friend of about two minutes' standing, to warn you away from it.”
Billy's mien, as he voiced this warning, was so singularly mysterious that Dolores's curiosity was aroused instantly and rose superior to her grief. “Why, what's the matter?” she demanded.
Billy looked around, as if fearful of being overheard. He lowered his voice. “We're going to have one grand little first-class revolution,” he replied. “It's due to bust almost any night now, and when it does, the streets of San Buenaventura will run red with blood. I shudder to think of the fate that might befall you, alone and unprotected in the city, in such event.”
Dolores blanched. “Oh, dearie me,” she quavered. “Do they still have revolutions here? You know, Mr. Geary, my poor father was killed in one.”
“Yes, and the same old political gang that shot him is still on deck,” Billy warned her. “It would be highly dangerous for a Ruey, man or woman, to show his or her nose around Buenaventura about now. Besides, Miss Ruey, that isn't the worst,” he continued, for a whole-hearted lad was Billy, who never did anything by halves. While he was opposed to lies and liars on broad, general principles, nevertheless whenever the exigencies of circumstance compelled him to backslide, his Hibernian impulsiveness bade him spin a yarn worth while. “The city is reeking with cholera,” he declared.
“Cholera!” Dolores's big brown eyes grew Digger with wonder and concern. “Are there any other fatal diseases prevalent, Mr. Geary?”
“Well, we're not advertising it, Miss Ruey, but if I had an enemy to whom I wanted to slip a plain or fancy case of bubonic plague, I'd invite him to visit me at Buenaventura.”
“How strange the port authorities didn't warn us at New Orleans!” Dolores suggested.
“Tish! Tush! Fiddlesticks and then some. The fruit company censors everything, Miss Ruey, and the news doesn't get out. The port authorities here would never admit the truth of such reports, because it would be bad for business——”
“But the port doctor just said the passengers could go ashore.”