Señora Tassara laughed merrily, as she responded:
“You are a dreadfully obstinate young patriot, my darling. But you must be a little more gracious. The gringo armies will never come to Vera Cruz. They are away up north on the Rio Grande.”
“Well, mother, I will a little,” said the señorita, proudly. “Señor Carfora, your generals will be beaten all to pieces. You wait till you see our soldiers. You haven’t anything like them. They are as brave as lions. My father is a soldier, and he is to command a regiment. I wish I were a man to go and fight.”
Her eyes were flashing and she looked very warlike, but the only thing that poor Ned could think of to say just then was:
“Señora Tassara, if you are not careful, somebody will get in some day and steal your beautiful coffee-urn.”
“Ah me!” sighed the señora. “This has been attempted, my young friend. Thieves have been killed, too, in trying to carry off the Tassara plate. There would be more like it, in some places, if so much had not been made plunder of and melted up in our dreadful revolutions. Some of them were only great robberies. I understand that you must go to your business now, but we shall see you again this evening.”
“Good morning, Señora Tassara,” said Ned, as he bowed and tried to walk backward toward the outer door. “Good morning, Señorita Tassara. You would feel very badly this morning if you had been drowned last night.”
The last thing he heard, as he reached the piazza, was a ringing peal of laughter from the señora, but he believed that he had answered politely.
He knew his way to the office of the American consul, and the distance was not great in so small a town, but as he drew near it, he saw that there was a strong guard of soldiers in front of the building. They were handsomely uniformed regulars from the garrison of San Juan de Ulua, and there was cause enough for their being on duty. All up and down the street were scattered groups of sullen-looking men, talking and gesticulating. None of them carried guns, but every man of them had a knife at his belt, and not a few of them were also armed with machetes of one form or another. They would have made a decidedly dangerous mob against anything but the well-drilled and fine-looking guards who were protecting the consulate. Ned remembered what Felicia had said about her soldiers, and he did not know how very different were these disciplined regulars from the great mass of the levies which were to be encountered by the troops of the United States. He was admiring them and he was thinking of battles and generals, when one of the most ferocious-looking members of the mob came jauntily sauntering along beside him. He was a powerfully built man, almost black with natural color and sunburn. He was not exactly ragged, but he was barefooted, and his broad-brimmed sombrero was by no means new. A heavy machete hung from his belt, and he appeared to be altogether an undesirable new acquaintance. Ned looked up at him almost nervously, for he did not at all like the aspect of affairs in that street. He was thinking:
“I guess they were right about the excitement of the people. This isn’t any place for fellows like me. I must get out of Vera Cruz as soon as I can. It’s a good thing that I’m disguised. I must play Mexican.”