"I want to tell you something about those dispatches before you read them, Mr. Brigham," said the ensign.
"Well, sit down, my lads. What's the good word, ensign?"
Thereupon Glennie told the whole story connected with the loss of the dispatches and their final recovery. Everything went in, and a half hour was consumed in the telling. More than once Brigham whistled and puckered his brows ominously. But he was absorbed in the narrative. When it was done, he reached his hand toward Matt.
"Pardon me, youngster," said he, "but I never miss a chance to shake hands with a live one. Possibly it's because I've lived so long in this dead place, where you can't turn around without having some sluggard tell you 'mañana.' You're the clear quill, and I'll gamble you'll get along. If I was younger, blamed if I wouldn't like to trot a heat with you myself. Put 'er there!"
Matt, flushing under the compliment given him by the consul, allowed his hand to be wrung cordially.
"Now," said Brigham, "look out of the windows at the beautiful palms while I go through these papers."
The consul was all of half an hour getting the gist of his dispatches.
"I'm ready for you two lads," he presently called.
Matt and Glennie returned to the chairs they had previously occupied. They were surprised at the change that had come over Mr. Brigham's face. On their arrival, it had been bright and smiling, while now it was dark and foreboding.
"I guess you lads know how it feels to be in the jaws of death, and just slip out before they close," said he, "but you don't know the whole of it, not by a jugful. Of all the high-handed proceedings I ever heard of, this certainly grabs the banner. Now, listen."