“I’ll admit in the past I’ve been too much a hothouse kid, but,” he banged his fist down hard on a table by his side, “never again! No, Tom! I won’t cross over the International bridge with you! Besides, I believe the danger’s all over!”
“‘A hothouse kid,’” cried Dick. “Why—say, fellows, this chap is simply chuck full of grit. He didn’t even want to skip down into the cyclone cellar when shells were bursting all around the plaza. And——”
Heavy footsteps on the veranda, and resounding deep, bass voices, brought the explanations and arguments to an abrupt conclusion. They grew momentarily louder and on looking toward the door leading into the building the boys saw half a dozen burly Mexicans soon emerge from the soft, mellow depths of the interior into the bluish gray tones of the shade outside.
“Christopher Columbus!” murmured Dick.
They, themselves, were partly concealed from view behind several towering shrubs, and the newcomers failed to discover their presence. Silently the lads observed them. Their hearts beat faster. Crouching far back into the friendly shelter they watched and waited, while the swarthy-looking men strode here and there, their spurs clinking faintly as they walked.
They were all in a high good humor, rough and boisterous; and in a playful spirit overturned tables, upset plants, and flipped with their quirts any stray glasses or crockery-ware which came in their way, chuckling loudly when the patio echoed to the sounds of smashing glass.
After five minutes of silence and suspense on the boys’ part, the revolutionists strode back into the building and disappeared.
During all this time Tom Clifton had been doing a tremendous amount of thinking. Jimmy, he realized, after long pondering over his imaginary wrongs, had worked himself into such a state of mind that at the present time he was no longer amenable to reason. It seemed to have the effect, too, of dulling his senses to the perils which still surrounded them.
Anarchy, lawlessness, disregard for either the lives or property of people, characterized that period of the troublous times in Mexico. If the pianist could not be induced to return to Texas by arguments, he must be made to do so by other means.
“Of course,” murmured Tom, “he’ll be furiously angry for a short time. Then say it was the best thing that ever happened to him.”