It was just such another scorching hot day as the first time we'd been in Santa Cruz, and the whole place was a flutter of green and black, green and black flags in front of every house, green and black rosettes in every one's coats, and of course the regular troops were plastered with green and black badges.
Troops! Why, there were more regular troops than ever, cavalry, infantry, and artillery, and not a sign of the fierce little brown men in the streets or big square, except in front of the cathedral steps, where about two hundred of them formed a guard of honour, their ragged shirts and cotton drawers washed for the occasion, new cartridge-belts round their waists, and brown boots on their feet, but not looking particularly happy in their finery, although there was a great crowd watching them curiously. There was a funny feeling of tension in the air, and every one had the same worried expectant look on his face, just as I had noticed on that first day we drove through the city.
'Aren't there any women in the place?' Ginger asked. 'We never seem to see any,' and Mr. Macdonald shook his head. 'They know when there's danger. It's always a bad sign when they stay indoors. They're afraid of the insurgent troops from the forests down south and the plains away to the north. There's no knowing what they'll do when they enter the city. Every one's nervous about them.'
We drove to the Club, and there we found any number of fellows from the Hercules, and most of the European residents too. They had the same anxious look about them as we'd noticed outside, and one of them, turning to me, said that practically everything depended on my brother and his personal influence and popularity with the ragged armed mob who were going to march into Santa Cruz. He told me that Gerald had just gone up to his room, so Ginger and Bob and I went up and found him changing into clean things, José, with a huge black and green rosette in his coat, helping him. I introduced Ginger, and unbuckling our sword-belts we sat on his bed and yarned to him.
'How are your chaps going to behave?' I asked him.
'So long as I can keep my eye on them they'll be all right,' he said, 'but I don't like the idea of leaving them outside when I have to go into the cathedral, or to that banquet they talk so much about. I wish to goodness I hadn't to go through this tomfoolery; I have to ride immediately behind the President's carriage. (How the dickens can he expect to be popular if he don't ride a horse?) He won't let me off the job either, although he's jealous of me, and hates hearing people singing out my name, but he knows he can't keep my little brown chaps in hand himself, so he's going to keep me as close to him as possible.'
'But must they come in?' Ginger asked.
'Yes!' he said; 'they must. They must have their triumphal entry. I've had bother enough keeping them out as long as this, but they won't go home till they can say that they've marched through Santa Cruz as victors. Thank goodness, they've hardly got a cartridge among them.'
'How many are there?' Ginger began to ask, when there was a gentle tap on the door, and one of the Club servants came in, handed Gerald a visiting card, and went out again.
'I don't know who the chap is,' Gerald said, looking at it; 'I wish people wouldn't bother me now.'