The Complete Works of O. Henry

Conversation developed that the newly landed one was named Smith, and that he had come in a yacht. A meagre biography, truly; for the yacht was most apparent; and the 'Smith' not beyond a reasonable guess before the revelation. Yet to the eye of Goodwin, who has seen several things, there was a discrepancy between Smith and his yacht. A bullet-headed man Smith was, with an oblique, dead eye and the moustache of a cocktail-mixer. And unless he had shifted costumes before putting off for shore he had affronted the deck of his correct vessel clad in a pearl-gray derby, a gay plaid suit and vaudeville neckwear. Men owning pleasure yachts generally harmonize better with them.

Smith looked business, but he was no advertiser. He commented upon the scenery, remarking upon its fidelity to the pictures in the geography; and then inquired for the United States consul. Goodwin pointed out the starred-and-striped bunting hanging from above the little consulate, which was concealed behind the orange- trees.

'Mr. Geddie, the consul, will be sure to be there,' said Goodwin. 'He was very nearly drowned a few days ago while taking a swim in the sea, and the doctor has ordered him to remain indoors for some time.'

Smith ploughed his way through the sand to the consulate, his haberdashery creating violent discord against the smooth tropical blues and greens.

Geddie was lounging in his hammock, somewhat pale of face and languid in pose. On that night when the Valhalla's boat had brought him ashore apparently drenched to death by the sea, Doctor Gregg and his other friends had toiled for hours to preserve the little spark of life that remained to him. The bottle, with its impotent message, was gone out to sea, and the problem that it had provoked was reduced to a simple sum in addition--one and one make two, by the rule of arithmetic; one by the rule of romance.

There is a quaint old theory that man may have two souls--a peripheral one which serves ordinarily, and a central one which is stirred only at certain times, but then with activity and vigor. While under the domination of the former a man will shave, vote, pay taxes, give money to his family, buy subscription books and comport himself on the average plan. But let the central soul suddenly become dominant, and he may, in the twinkling of an eye, turn upon the partner of his joys with furious execration; he may change his politics while you could snap your fingers; he may deal out deadly insult to his dearest friend; he may get him, instanter, to a monastery or a dance hall; he may elope, or hang himself--or he may write a song or poem, or kiss his wife unasked, or give his funds to the search of a microbe. Then the peripheral soul will return; and we have our safe, sane citizen again. It is but the revolt of the Ego against Order; and its effect is to shake up the atoms only that they may settle where they belong.

Geddie's revulsion had been a mild one--no more than a swim in a summer sea after so inglorious an object as a drifting bottle. And now he was himself again. Upon his desk, ready for the post, was a letter to his government tendering his resignation as consul, to be effective as soon as another could be appointed in his place. For Bernard Brannigan, who never did things in a half-way manner, was to take Geddie at once for a partner in his very profitable and various enterprises; and Paula was happily engaged in plans for refurnishing and decorating the upper story of the Brannigan house.

The consul rose from his hammock when he saw the conspicuous stranger at this door.

'Keep your seat, old man,' said the visitor, with an airy wave of his large hand. 'My name's Smith; and I've come in a yacht. You are the consul--is that right? A big, cool guy on the beach directed me here. Thought I'd pay my respects to the flag.'

'Sit down, said Geddie. 'I've been admiring your craft ever since it came in sight. Looks like a fast sailer. What's her tonnage?'

'Search me!' said Smith. 'I don't know what she weighs in at. But she's got a tidy gait. The Rambler--that's her name--don't take the dust of anything afloat. This is my first trip on her. I'm taking a squint along this coast just to get an idea of the countries where the rubber and red pepper and revolutions come from. I had no idea there was so much scenery down here. Why, Central Park ain't in it with this neck of the woods. I'm from New York. They get monkeys, and coconuts, and parrots down here--is that right?'

'We have them all,' said Geddie. 'I'm quite sure that our fauna and flora would take a prize over Central Park.'

'Maybe they would,' admitted Smith, cheerfully. 'I haven't seen them yet. But I guess you've got us skinned on the animal and vegetation question. You don't have much travel here, do you?'

'Travel?' queried the consul. 'I suppose you mean passengers on steamers. No; very few people land in Coralio. An investor now and then--tourists and sightseers generally go further down the coast to one of the larger towns where there is a harbor.'

'I see a ship out there loading up with bananas,' said Smith. 'Any passengers come on her?'

'That's the Karlesfin,' said the consul. 'She's a tramp fruiter-- made her last trip to New York, I believe. No; she brought no passengers. I saw her boat come ashore, and there was no one. About the only exciting recreation we have here is watching steamers when they arrive; and a passenger on one of them generally causes the whole town to turn out. If you are going to remain in Coralio a while, Mr. Smith, I'll be glad to take you around to meet some people. There are four or five American chaps that are good to know, besides the native high-fliers.'

'Thanks,' said the yachtsman, 'but I wouldn't put you the trouble. I'd like to meet the guys you speak of, but I won't be here long enough to do much knocking around. That cool gent on the beach spoke of a doctor; can you tell me where to find him? The Rambler ain't quite as steady on her feet as a Broadway hotel; and a fellow gets a touch of seasickness now and then. Thought I'd strike the croaker for a handful of the little sugar pills, in case I need 'em.'

'You will be apt to find Doctor Gregg at the hotel,' said the consul. 'You can see it from the door--it's that two-story building with the balcony, where the orange-trees are.'

The Hotel de los Extranjeros was a dreary hostelry, in great disuse both by strangers and friends. It stood at a corner of the Street of the Holy Sepulchre. A grove of small orange-trees crowded against one side of it, enclosed by a low, rock wall over which a tall man might easily step. The house was of plastered adobe, stained a hundred shades of color by the salt breeze and the sun. Upon its upper balcony opened a central door and two windows containing broad jalousies instead of sashes.

The lower floor communicated by two doorways with the narrow, rock-paved sidewalk. The pulperia--or drinking shop--of the proprietess, Madama Timotea Ortiz, occupied the ground floor. On the bottles of brandy, anisada, Scotch 'smoke,' and inexpensive wines behind the little counter the dust lay thick save where the fingers of infrequent customers had left irregular prints. The upper story contained four or five guest-rooms which were rarely put to their destined use. Sometimes a