"Never mind what is coming to pass. This is going to be a big night, my boy—a very big night." Kirk strolled out into the hall and made his way to the lobby.
Already the orchestra was tuning up, the wide porches were filling with well-dressed people, while a stream of coaches at the door was delivering the arrivals on the special from Colon. It was a very animated crowd, sprinkled plentifully with Spanish people—something quite unusual, by-the-way—while the presence of many uniforms gave the affair almost the brilliance of a military function. There were marine officers from Bas Obispo, straight, trim, brown of cheek; naval officers from the cruisers in the roadstead, clad in their white trousers and bell-boy jackets; army officers detailed from Washington on special duty; others from the various parts of the work itself.
Kirk wandered about through the confusion, nodding to his friends, chatting here and there, his eyes fixed anxiously upon the door.
Clifford approached and fell into conversation with him.
"Great doings, eh? I came up from the Central just to see what these affairs are like. Did you see to-night's paper?"
"No."
"Garavel is going to run for President. This is a kind of political coming-out party."
"So I believe."
"It looked like a fight between him and General Alfarez, but they've patched it up, and the General is going to withdraw. Garavel is to have Uncle Sam's congratulations and co-operation. It's a joke, isn't it, this international good feeling?"
"Excuse me." Anthony saw Runnels searching the room with anxiety. He hurried toward him and inquired, breathlessly: