“You have been a wonderfully kind friend to me, Señor Bazán, and I don’t deserve it. Now that I am getting fit to take care of myself, I must plan to get away somehow. I have been waiting for the arrival of the ship, to see the Señorita Fernandez again—”
Uncle Ramon bounced from his chair and wildly waved his hands as he cried:
“It was that girl all the time! The devil fly away with her! But I must let you see her or there will be another commotion with an iron bar. All right, Ricardo. Teresa is sure to come to my house to ask if anything was heard about you after the steamer sailed away with her. How can I keep you from seeing that girl? You have an infatuation.”
“I shall take no chances,” was the dogged reply. “She might be kept on board. I’ll write her a letter and you will send it down to the ship or carry it yourself.”
This ripped the temper of Señor Bazán to shreds. He slapped his bald pate and his false teeth clicked as he vociferated:
“Writing letters is a trick of———— idiots. It would make me as big a fool as you are to let a letter go out of my house, a letter you had written to a sweetheart. What happens to me if Cartagena finds out I am hiding you here? Bah! That girl has turned your brain into a rotten egg.”
Taken aback by this tantrum, Cary was strongly inclined to twist the old gentleman’s neck. It was not really essential, however, to write a letter. Soothingly he suggested:
“Then you will promise to let her know that she must come to the house while she is in port. Without fail? She will guess that something is in the wind.”
“Yes, I will do that much,” grumbled Uncle Ramon. “I have to keep you quiet. I will drive down to the ship and bring Teresa back with me. What if the chief steward or somebody forbids her to go ashore?”
“She will come anyhow, unless I am all wrong about her,” said Cary.