The commander-in-chief shook his head.
"Not now, sir. I came to tell you something about the army," he replied. He was shocked at Tetson's sudden pallor. The yellow cigar was dropped from nerveless fingers and smeared a white trail of ash across the green cloth.
"What do they want?" asked Tetson, in a husky voice.
"Oh, they take whatever they want," replied Hemming; "the taxes that are due you, and something besides from the unprotected." Then he retailed the case of the poor woman. When he had finished Tetson did not speak immediately. His benevolent face wore an expression that cut Hemming to the heart.
"I must think it over," he said, wearily, "I must think it over."
CHAPTER IX.
MR. CUDDLEHEAD ARRIVES
Mr. Cuddlehead's trip, though free from serious accident, had been extremely trying. The barcassa had cramped his legs, and the smell of the native cooking, in so confined a space, had unsettled his stomach. He had been compelled to wait three days in the uninteresting village at the mouth of the Plado, unable to hurry the leisurely crew of the launch. But at last the undesirable journey came to an end, and with a sigh of relief he issued from beneath the smoke-begrimed awning, and stretched his legs on the little wharf at Pernamba. He looked at the deserted warehouses along the river-front, and a foreboding of disaster chilled him. The afternoon lay close and bright in the unhealthy valley, and the very peacefulness of the scene awoke a phantom of fear in his heart. What if the President were a man of the world after all, with a knowledge of men and the signs on their faces? Why, then, good-bye to all hope of the family circle.
A black boy accosted Cuddlehead, awaking him from his depressing surmises. The nigger gabbled in the language of the country. Then he pointed at the traveller's bag.
"Take it, by all means," said Cuddlehead.