"Oh, she is not too dark, sar." Allan came loyally to the defence of
Miss Torres. "Some of the finest people in Panama is blacker than that.
There is but few who are h'all w'ite."
"Well, SHE'S all white, and I want you to find her to-day—TO-DAY, understand? You gallop out to the Savannas and make some inquiries." He shook his fist in Allan's face. "If you don't learn something this trip, I'll have your lignum-vitae cranium in a bowling-alley by dark. Lord! If I only spoke Spanish!"
Allan reluctantly departed, and Kirk went back to his quarters in high displeasure. It seemed as if the affair had actually left a bad taste in his mouth. He could not compose his features into anything like a decently amiable expression, but went about with a bitter smile upon his lips. Every time some new aspect of his grotesque and humiliating mistake occurred to him he suffered a nervous twinge. That afternoon a card was brought to him bearing the ornate inscription in a beautiful Spencerian hand:
PROFESSOR JESUS HERARA THE HERARA COLLEGE OF BUSINESS
Reconciling himself as best he could to the prospect of an interview with some importunate stranger, he grudgingly consented to have the visitor brought in. Professor Herara was not alone. He was accompanied by a very short, very fat man, whose smooth skin had the rich, dark coloring of a nice, oily Cuban cigar.
"Senor Anthony, it is?" inquired the Professor, bowing ceremoniously.
"That's my name."
"It is my privilege to consult you upon a business of importance."
"I'm afraid you have the wrong party. I don't care to learn shorthand."
"Ah, no, it is not concerning my academy. Allow me to present Senor
Luis Torres."