“The devil!  You said he’d gone back to New York.  What is it about?”

“I thought he had.  They arrested him for some silly thing, and he’s hurt.”  She hurriedly recounted Allan’s story, adding, in conclusion, “That black boy came all the way across the Isthmus to tell us!”

“I’ll get the American consul by ’phone—­”

But Mrs. Cortlandt interrupted.  “Weeks is a fool!  He wouldn’t do anything.  Wait!” She stepped to the instrument and rang violently.  “Give me Colonel Jolson’s office, quickly.  If he is not there, find him.  I don’t care where he is, find him; it is important.  This is Mrs. Cortlandt speaking.’

“What do you mean to do?” said Cortlandt.

“Go to Colon at once.  This is young Alfarez’s doing—­the whipper-snapper—­you must lay him out for this.  How dare he!”

“Better go carefully.  Remember, General Alfarez is his father.”

“I understand.  But we are bound to come to a breach sooner or later.”

“I hardly think so.  I believe we can bring him around all right—­ anyhow, I haven’t lost hope.”  Then, as his wife made an impatient gesture:  “Well, if we precipitate a quarrel now, that will end it.”  He paced the room feverishly.  “Good heavens, Edith!  Anthony chose the worst possible time for this escapade.  I suppose it will mean diplomatic difficulties and all that, and once we lose old Alfarez—­”

“We will lose him anyhow,” snapped the woman.  “I’ve seen it coming, although you could not.  I’ll break Ramon for this.”

“Then you’ll break us.”  Cortlandt stared gloomily at his wife, who met his gaze squarely.  “Do you think Anthony is worth it?”

“My dear Stephen, they nearly killed that poor boy, and I sha’n’t allow it.  Don Anibal Alfarez is not the only presidential timber in the republic.  If he breaks with us it will cost him dearly.  You think he is friendly, but I know that deep down in his crafty old heart he despises all us Americans and is only waiting a chance to gratify his spleen.  The moment he dares, he’ll turn against us.”

Cortlandt’s frosty countenance showed signs of unusual agitation as he answered:  “You’re mad!  You threaten to ruin everything.  You understand perfectly—­there’s no use of my explaining.  Let me call on him this afternoon.  He will instruct his son.”

“No!  He would procrastinate, as usual.  There would be the customary delays and excuses, and meanwhile Anthony would be in jail at Colon.  They would have a defence all prepared.  Besides, if it’s to be a fight we must have all the weapons possible—­and this affair may prove a good one.  Anyhow, you mustn’t ask a favor of him at this time; he must ask, not you.”

The telephone rang, and the speaker snatched the receiver from its hook.