“Now that ceremony is over, I’m ready to carry out any other suggestions of yours, old fellow. They’re all good, every one of them. So, kindly give your orders.”
I saw Hildegarde regard me with some surprise, as though she thought I should be the one to assume charge; you see, her ideas had jumped around to the other extreme, and she could not now conceive of my failing in any undertaking, however difficult.
“You see, my dear, Robbins is engineering this affair—turn about is fair play. Besides, while I’ve been cooling my heels in that blessed dungeon and juggling with the puzzling menu of frijoles, tortillas and water, he has used his time to advantage, and allied us with the revolutionary party, so that we are no longer friendless in an enemy’s country—perhaps to-morrow we may even be touching elbows with the new president himself—who knows?”
Plainly, I hardly believe Hildegarde understood one-half that I said, but her confidence in me was sublime, and she nodded and smiled as though it were revealed to her as plain as the largest bookprint.
Robbins went to the door and unlocked it.
I supposed we were about to make our exit from the casa in an orderly way, reaching the street and proceeding to some quarters already arranged for in this comprehensive scheme of the mate, whence we of the male sex could sally out when the alarm bells gave the signal that every revolutionist should be on the street.
It was not to be quite so easy.
Fortune had not grown weary of buffeting her votaries, and we were yet to experience the joy of winning what we secured.
When I heard the racket from below, I fancied the uprising had burst into a flame prematurely, and that the house of the alcalde was fated to bear its first fruits.
It was not so.