“That pig of a Swiss said she had left the ship in New York. He didn’t know why. A good stewardess, he called her, when she was not chasing herself about something else.”
“And no word to explain why she wanted to quit or where she went?” implored the lover.
“Not one word, Ricardo,” said Ramon, his bald head cocked sagaciously. “These infernal girls! They can make a Yellow Tiger look like a sick house-cat. But why should I laugh? There were such girls when Ramon Bazán was a gay caballero—Good God, how long ago it was—and he was never afraid to see the ears of the wolf if the prize was an embrace and a kiss. Teresa, though, she was never a girl to be a fool with the men. Not a coquette, I will say that much for the jade. She was fond of you, Ricardo. My old eyes told me that.”
Richard Cary stood massive and composed. The uncle’s tirade was the sound of empty words. They buzzed without biting. He could not believe that Teresa was faithless or forgetful, fleeting though the romance had been. Sadly mystified, he was not one to be dragged adrift by an ill wind. His convictions were stanch. Such was his native temperament. Because Teresa had found some reason for leaving the ship in New York, it did not mean that she had forsaken him. He would find her some day and then it could be explained.
“I am badly disappointed, sir,” he said to her uncle. The boyish smile was wistful as he added: “I couldn’t see beyond to-day. Never mind. Teresa Fernandez is wise enough to steer her own course. Now, my dear Señor Bazán, I am finished with Cartagena. I’m head over heels in debt to you for all your kindness, but I must be on my way. I never fell in a hole that I couldn’t pull myself out of somehow. If you will help me, I shall be more grateful than ever.”
It was not mere bravado. The time had come to force the hand of the benevolent old despot. The reply to this ultimatum was a sardonic chuckle. The mirth increased until it ended in spasms of coughing. Cary pounded the brittle Uncle Ramon on the back and almost broke him in two. It was exasperating to listen to him. He wiped his eyes, adjusted his teeth, and motioned the young man into the library. There the exhausted Señor Bazán curled up in a chair like a goblin and began to elucidate himself as follows:
“To laugh at a broken-hearted lover is abominable, Ricardo. I reproach myself and implore you to forgive a funny old guy. It is selfish of me to feel so pleased, but I hope to make you understand. That girl was in the way. To me she was an obstacle. I could do nothing with you until her ship came in. And then I was afraid of her entangling you against me. With a man and girl, everything must be talked over together. ‘Will I do this?’ ‘Should I do that?’ ‘What does she say?’ I tell you, dear Ricardo, the women spoil more bold men than they ever make heroes of. For the present we are happily rid of Teresa. You will be fool enough to follow her later, but that is none of the funeral of Ramon Bazán.”
Richard Cary thrust his grieved disappointment into the background. Here was promise of reading the riddle of his detention. The old man had never been so ablaze with excitement as now. He caught his breath and volubly continued:
“It filled my mind when I first saw you, Ricardo—you were the man I had been looking for—the man I had to have. And then I lost you, the worst luck that ever was. When that lame fellow, Palacio, came down from La Popa with your letter, I tell you I rejoiced myself. You were crazy to find that Teresa, I could see it between the words, but it was the best of fortune for Ramon Bazán. Since you have been in my house, Ricardo, I have watched you, to measure you up, and I was right as could be, on that very first night. You are the man I want. Not so many bats in my cabeza as the saucy Teresa has told me to my face! When you know what I want you for, you will not sigh and look sad and talk about bursting out of Cartagena. You will be glad of the day when you came to live with Ramon Bazán.”
“Show me any road out and I will swamp you with my blessings,” exclaimed Cary, immensely diverted. “I knew you had something up your sleeve, but there I stuck. Now, for the Lord’s sake, please get down to brass tacks. Then I can tell you whether I’ll take it or leave it.”