“A wandering demagogue and cheap politician. Abuse of the ‘Yankis’ is his stock in trade. Somebody has been furnishing him money lately. That’s the sole fuel to his fires of oratory.”
“Bet the bills smelled of sauerkraut when they reached him,” grunted Cluff, striding over to the window of the drawing-room, where the informal conference was being held.
“They may have had a Hochwaldian origin,” admitted Sherwen. “But it would be difficult to prove.”
“At least the Hochwald Legation wouldn’t shed any tears over a demonstration against us,” said Carroll.
“Well within the limits of diplomatic truth,” smiled the American official.
“Pooh!” Mr. Brewster puffed the whole matter out of consideration. “I don’t believe a word of it. Some of my acquaintances at the club, men in high governmental positions, assure me that there is no anti-American feeling here.”
“Very likely they do. Frankness and plain-speaking being, as you doubtless know, the distinguishing mark of the Caracuñan statesman.”
The sarcasm was not lost upon Mr. Brewster, but it failed to shake his skepticism.
“There are some business matters that require that I should go to the office of the Ferro carril del Norte this afternoon,” he said.
“I beg that you do nothing of the sort,” cried Sherwen sharply.