The picture had to do with the perils and triumphs of an American youth in a banana republic. The hero of the picture had been nobody in particular in the United States, but he was an American, and when he arrived in the capital of the southern country he promptly took the center of the stage by right of birth. He had failed in business in the United States, but down there he seized hold of affairs—economic, social, political—with amazing verve and ability. In due course, he married the beautiful daughter of the dictator, and arranged to take over the country in bulk—but we have only to do with the episode wherein he was rescued from man-eating land-crabs by a detail of U. S. Marines.
"Yea-a!" exhaled Paul with delight and relief when the forefront of the gallant Marines appeared on the jungle trail, spurring to the rescue with excellent horsemanship.
"You're hurting my hand," said Molly. "They do look fine, don't they? I just love soldiers!"
"Good old leathernecks," sighed Paul. "I tell you what, Molly, it takes us Americans to show those people where they get off!"
"It certainly does," said Molly. "I bet you could get to be a dictator of one of those countries, too, Paul."
"Well," said Paul slowly, "seeing that I am an American, I guess I would have the bulge on them all right."
"Some of those South Americans look awfully mean. You would have to watch out for them, Paul. That was a machine-gun that he killed Don Henriquez' army with, wasn't it? How does a machine-gun work, Paul?"
"Well, it is quite a complicated mechanism. I do not think I could explain it to you so you would understand."
"Did you ever see one?"