Weeks did himself credit as a host. His table, spread on the latticed balcony where the never-failing trade-winds fanned it, was decorated tastefully with flowers, red-shaded candles, white linen, and gleaming silver gave it a metropolitan air. Both the food and the wine were well served, and the consul's half-dozen guests soon became mellowed and friendly. Kirk felt he had fallen among kindred spirits, for it was almost like a fraternity dinner.
When finally they arose, some one proposed a game of draw poker and insisted upon Kirk's joining. He was about to refuse when Weeks drew him aside to say:
"Don't let the money question stand in your way, Kirk. You're my guest, and your I.O.U. is as good as a government bond; so go as far as you like."
A considerable portion of Anthony's time in college had been devoted to a course in draw poker—recitations, so to speak, being conducted in the upper rooms of a Greek letter "frat," and he cherished the belief that he had at least learned to distinguish a spade flush from an "Arkansas blaze." But he soon found that these men had forgotten more about the game than he could ever hope to learn at any university, and when the crowd broke up at midnight he signed his name to a tab for forty dollars.
Early the next day the following cablegram was left at the American
Consulate:
WEEKS, Consul, Colon.
Anthony absent, returns Friday.
COPLEY.
"Copley is the Governor's secretary," Kirk explained. "That means that
I'll miss the Santa Cruz and have to wait another week."
"I'm delighted," the consul said, heartily.
"Perhaps you could stake me to a ticket. I'll remit when I get to New
York."