Hemming, the adventurer

by Theodore Goodridge Roberts

There is one hostelry in Pernamba, on a side street behind the military stables. It is small and not very clean. To this place the boy led Cuddlehead, and at the door demanded five hundred reis—the equivalent of sixpence. Cuddlehead doubled the sum, for after all he had done very well of late, and a favourable impression is a good thing to make in a new stamping-ground, even on a nigger. The proprietor of the inn bowed him to the only habitable guest-chamber. Here he bathed, as well as he could with two small jugs of water and his shaving-soap, and then changed into a suit of clean white linen. With a cigarette between his lips and a light rattan in his hand, Cuddlehead was himself again. He swaggered into the narrow street and started in search of the President's villa. He passed a group of soldiers puffing their cigarettes in a doorway, who stared after him with interest and some misgivings. "Was the place to be invaded by Englishmen?" they wondered. He saw a brown girl of attractive appearance, rolling cigars beside an open window. He entered the humble habitation, and, after examining the samples of leaf, in sign language ordered a hundred cigars. Then he embraced the girl, and was promptly slapped across the face and pushed out of the shop.

"What airs these d—n niggers put on," he muttered, "but maybe I was a bit indiscreet."

Here, already, was the hand of Hemming against him, though he did not know it; for Hemming, also, had bought cigars from the girl, and had treated her as he treated all women, thereby establishing her self-respect above the attentions of men with eyes like Cuddlehead's.

Cuddlehead found the gates open to the President's grounds without much trouble, and was halted by the sentry. He produced his card-case. The sentry whistled. The corporal issued from the guard-house, with his tunic open and his belt dangling.

Just then Captain Santosa entered from the street, with, in the metaphorical phrase of a certain whist-playing poet, "a smile on his face, and a club in his hand." He swore at the corporal, who retreated to the guard-house, fumbling at his buttons. He bowed to Cuddlehead, and glanced at the card.

"You would like to see the President?" he said. "Then I will escort you to the door." He caught up his sword and hooked it short to his belt, wheeled like a drill-sergeant, and fitted his stride to Cuddlehead's.

Mr. Tetson received the visitor in his airy office. He seemed disturbed in mind, wondering, perhaps, if this were a dun from some wholesale establishment on the coast. He had been working on his books all the morning, and had caught a glimpse of ruin, like a great shadow, across the tidy pages. But he managed to welcome Cuddlehead heartily enough.

"You must stay to dinner, sir,—pot-luck,—very informal, you know," he said, hospitably. He leaned against the desk and passed his hand across his forehead. He could not keep his mind from working back to the sheets of ruled paper.

"Ten thousand," he pondered, "ten thousand for April alone, and nothing to put against it. The army wanting its pay, and robbing me of all I have. Gregory's coal bill as long as my leg. Sugar gone to the devil!" He sighed, mopped his face, and looked at Cuddlehead, who all the while had been observing him with furtive, inquiring eyes. He offered a yellow cigar, and lit one himself.

"Excuse me a moment," he said. "I have something to see to. Here are some English papers. I'll be back immediately, Mr. Cuddlehead, and then maybe we can have a game of billiards."