"Why, I didn't tell you about that did I?" asked the simple Jim. John Berwick doubled over with silent laughter.
"You did not need to tell me," he said when he got his breath; "that method is as old as the daughters of Eve."
"I guess I will go and introduce myself," said Jim hurriedly. "Come on, Berwick."
"Hold on, Jim," said the engineer, "I don't think that is the wisest plan. It makes it awkward for both sides, and people don't like to have their lunch broken in on. We will wait for them in the lobby, or find out at what hotel they are stopping and you can send up your card."
"You are coming, too, to call on them," said Jim impulsively; "I want them to meet you." But John Berwick shook his head with slow emphasis and decision.
"Nay, nay, James," he said, "I have a very susceptible heart. I might become enamored with the fair señorita, that would be trouble, sequel two ex-friends on the sea sands by moonlight, two revolvers flashing at the signal, two beautiful corpses stretched out on the sad sea sands, then slow music, all on account of a girl with dark hair who once wore a red rose in it. Life to me is too interesting for any such nonsense."
Jim laughed at his friend's way of expressing himself, and tried to make him change his mind about the proposed call, but an older man would have told him that there was much sound sense under John Berwick's odd humor. The truth was that the more experienced man of the world knew that the real danger lay in the señorita's caring for him instead of the more simple and straightforward Jim. Berwick knew that it was social experience and knowledge that was apt to count for most in such matters.
"Lucky this isn't our busy day," remarked the engineer, as they waited for the Señor da Cordova and his daughter to finish their lunch.
"It's Broome's move, anyway," replied Jim.
Just then there was an incident at the other table that invited their attention.