“The American commander will have to be handled carefully,” the count said in a low voice to Klinger, as he turned his back upon the officers. “He’s a fine type; I can see it in his face. He’d make a stanch friend, but a difficult enemy.” This last to himself. Sentiment was wasted upon the selfish manager of a grasping firm.
“I must contrive to know him,” the count added aloud.
The American officers had now continued along the road.
“Don’t be too precipitate,” the count cautioned as he whistled to the native boy, holding his pony’s bridle.
The count mounted his pony, walking it slowly down the road. At the Tivoli Hotel he stopped and dismounted. Within a half hour he walked from the hotel, carefully dressed in a spotless white linen suit and helmet. He turned his steps toward Matautu.
He turned in at the American consulate gate, and walked with an air of high bred assurance up the steps of the porch.
Mr. Lee arose to receive him, a frank smile of cordiality upon his face.
“Count Felix Rosen.” The visitor pronounced his name slowly; there was the smallest of accents. “I have come to pay my respects,” he said quietly. “We tourists often forget our social duties.”
“It is I who should apologize, Count Rosen,” Mr. Lee exclaimed, introducing the visitor to his daughter and Commander Tazewell. “You have been in Ukula for several days, and I should have called upon you and bid you welcome to our little island.”
“Truly, sir, I should not expect you to take so much trouble,” the count returned suavely. “I am but a globe-trotter, as you say in America. I have no aim, no business. I go where I may be amused.”