“You will pay when your people pay you for the bananas,” said the generous Spaniard. “Send me a draft. If the money does not come to you, then it will never come to me.
“And now,” he said, “I must go. Come inside, and I will instruct my secretary about the note you are to carry to my manager at Porte Zalaya.”
Ten minutes later, stepping on air, Johnny made his way toward the railway station.
“Now,” he said to himself, “if only I can reach the North Star before Captain Jorgensen contracts for another cargo, all is well. I’ll make it snappy.”
He had not lived in Central America long enough to know that in this little world of sudden revolution and many strange surprises, things are almost never done snappy. It is the land of manana (tomorrow), a land where nearly everyone believes that manana will do very well for all “snappy” business.
CHAPTER VIII
AN ANCIENT CASTLE IN RUINS
The moon was still casting a golden glow over the wonders of a tropical world when Pant and Kirk, closely followed by the giant Carib, emerging from the jungle caught their first look at the last Don’s plantation. With eager eyes they sought out the spot where the ancient castle had stood.
At a first startled glance Kirk cried out in dismay. Little wonder this, for where a noble edifice had stood a mournful sight now met their eyes. The magnificent, century old castle was now only a crumbled pile of broken timber, tumbled stone and crumbling mortar.
“Gone!” Kirk cried. “They are all gone!”
“It can’t be as bad as that,” said Pant. “At the first shock they would run from the house. Come on. Let’s get down there.”