"You can take this from me, señor," he said: "The revolutionists are just as high-toned a set of men as you'll find in Venezuela. I honestly believe General Fombombo has higher ideals than any public man I ever knew, and as for that Coronel Saturnino—say! you got to hand it to him for courtesy and politeness! So don't get all fussed about your boat. You're safe as a church, right here." Strawbridge paused impressively, and then asked, "Say, can you do anything for this damned hand of mine!"
The captain was convinced. Perhaps of all the men in the world the American salesman has a style of talk the most sincere in sound. The captain visibly put by his doubts of the revolutionists, and then looked at the hand.
"Caramba! that's a bad punch!"
"Yeh, tough luck."
A faint suspicion crossed the brown man's mind.
"You were not fighting, señor? You are not a revolutionista yourself?"
"Hell, no! I got this following the troops around. I wanted to see how they worked."
"Cá! Are you a military attaché, Señor Americano?"
The ship-owner was visibly impressed, but Strawbridge straightened.
"Say, do I look like a damn diplomatic lounge lizard sunning himself in some South American post! By God, I'm a man! I'm an American salesman down here investigating a point of business. I sell hardware, myself. I make this territory once a year. What's your line!"