“Toreado! Toreado!”
That was our old fire-eating general’s name; what Robbins had said flashed into my mind, and in that second of time I realized what the clang of the alarm bell had brought about, and that poor old Bolivar was wrestling in the throes of another annual revolution.
CHAPTER XXXIV.
ONE GOOD TURN AND ANOTHER.
Perhaps there did not exist in that metropolis any one who felt a keener interest in the uprising than myself.
True, some men flung ambition into the arena, and like old Gen. Toreado, risked life and reputation in the affair.
I had the safety of Hildegarde to consider, and surely that was of far more importance than my own individual ambition.
Now that I had guessed what Robbins was up to, my position on the azotea gave me a good chance to ascertain how affairs were progressing elsewhere.
The tumult, instead of dying out, increased in volume as new recruits joined the shouting insurgents.
What of our own enemies? Not a man jack of them had shown himself since the alarm burst out.