"I suppose it's a good job, but you ought to be selling poison in a drug-store. Did you call me out to hear this news?"
"Si!" Alfarez nodded his head vigorously. Then, narrowing his eyes, he said, meaningly, in a voice that none might overhear, "Panama is sometimes very on'ealthy city for fat Americans." He ran a hostile glance up and down Anthony's burly frame. "It is the climate per'aps—of too great 'eat."
"In other words, you intend to make it hot for me, eh?"
"I?" The ex-commandant shrugged his shoulders in eloquent denial. "I shall do not'ing, bot—if you are wise man you will not display yourself to the dangers of these climate; you will return 'ome."
"Say! I've a good notion to punch your head."
Alfarez paled slightly.
"Soch would be most dangerous, for in Chiriqui prison there is at the present some fatal disease." He laughed sneeringly. "The senor is reech man's son, eh? Those do not geeve the appearance."
With supreme insolence he touched one of the buttons upon Kirk's linen uniform with his cane, whereat the American snatched the stick out of his hand, broke it, and tossed it into the street. His blood was up, and in another breath he would have struck the Spaniard, regardless of consequences, but just at that moment Allan, dashed out of the crowd crying, breathlessly:
"Oh, boss! Oh, BOSS! Glory to God, it is true! OH-H-H GLORY!" Seizing Kirk's hands, he kissed them before the other could prevent, then ran on frantically: "Come quick! Come! Come! Come!"
"Look out!" snapped Kirk, angrily. "What's happened?"