Enthusiasm was in the air—they shrieked and shouted at my predictions concerning their standing at the head of all Central American republics, and I believed I had them with me heart and soul.
Alas! I had something to learn concerning the fickleness of these changeable people.
In the front rank was the stout alcalde, who wore the biggest kind of a green feather in his hat, and shouted more vociferously and more frequently than any two of his neighbors.
He always amused me, and I contemplated having much fun at his expense during my tenure of office.
There were padres in the crowd—I could see their peculiar shovel-shaped hats here and there, but they did not join in the racket, and I noted that their faces wore frowns.
Here, then, was a cause for trouble; they evidently feared I might attempt to bring the Yankee idea of freedom of religious worship to be a part of the national constitution, knocking out the established church.
Sooner or later I might expect trouble from these worthies.
When my impassioned harangue was finished—and how I wished Hildegarde could have been present to have heard me make that address and see how they cheered me to the echo—I stood there for an hour, shaking hands in the good American way, with all comers.
They laughed and joked and seemed to take it as a species of novel entertainment; but secretly, I promised ere long to spring upon Bolivar and its citizens some surprises that would startle them out of their Rip Van Winkle sleep.
My arm grew sore and weary.