They found Kennedy sitting alone on the veranda.
“How do you do, Mr. Kennedy,” said Johnny, putting out his hand. “Congratulate me. I have my cargo completed. Bananas. You may begin packing your fruit to-morrow. It will be in New York within ten days if we have luck. We—”
He broke short off. A tall Spaniard had emerged from the shadows. He had heard all, and the black cloud on his face was not all due to his dark Spanish skin.
He did not speak to the boy, but turning to Kennedy bade him good-night, then strode rapidly away to the spot where his saddle horse was tethered.
It was astonishing, the effect of this man upon Johnny’s spirits. It was as if threatening shadows had begun to crawl upon him.
“Bah!” he whispered to himself. “Probably never see him again.”
In this he was wrong. He was destined to see him many times, in fact to see him the very next day, and to get a decided shock from the encounter.
“Business,” he whispered to himself.
“What sort of business?” He thought of Madge Kennedy and the Spaniard, then dismissed them from his mind.
“Sit here with grandfather,” he heard the girl saying. “I’ll have some food ready in a jiffy.”