Grasping him by the shoulders, Devlin hoarsely demanded:
"Could you tell if Goodwin was on board?"
"I called to him in English. I told him his friends would find him. I thought I heard him try to holler something, but there was much noise, the engines, and the men giving orders. They yelled to me to keep away or they would shoot."
"I guess we had better get busy and plan our campaign," said Devlin.
"What will you do? Wake up the American minister in Panama? It is now a diplomatic matter. It is an international outrage. It is a Panama steamer that has stolen Goodwin, and General Quesada belongs to the republic."
"Oh, shucks!" drawled the steam-shovel man. "Do you know what that means? Cabling to Washington and enough red tape in the State Department to choke a cow. And delay to drive you crazy. And what becomes of Goodwin in the meantime?"
Rather chagrined to hear diplomacy dismissed so scornfully, Alfaro timidly ventured:
"The civil administration of the Canal Zone?"
Devlin hauled the young man into the street and hustled him in the direction of Ancon, as he confidently declared:
"Your theories are too complicated, my son. Diplomacy has killed your speed. There is only one boss on the Isthmus, one man who can do things right on the jump without consulting anybody in the world. I'm going to put this up to the colonel."