I think I muttered something under my breath, something that implied disgust, for I knew that remarkable building was the residence of the august alcalde, the high and mighty mayor of Bolivar.
CHAPTER III.
MAN PROPOSES—FATE DISPOSES.
Robbins saw there was something wrong with me, and demanded to know the cause. Strange to say, when I had given him the information, he did not seem to think it a very serious matter, at least declared he could not see how it was to cut any particular figure in our affair.
“If anything it favors us,” he said, stoutly.
Perhaps my miserable suspicions made me uncommonly dull of comprehension, for I considered that the mariner had certainly taken a wrong view of the situation, and begged him to explain why he felt so positive.
“You say this is the palace of the big mogul of the place, the alcalde?” he asked.
“Undoubtedly—the girl will say as much. See, she nods her head in the affirmative when you mention the name.”
“All right, his worship is going to have visitors to-night, then.”
“Umph! He already has them, if what we see and hear is any indication,” for the big casa was illuminated, and the sounds of music, together with the murmur of many voices, told of a social gathering.