here in the country, and they don't want rivals. Also, the country is trembling on the verge of a civil war. Peralta, who wants to succeed himself as president, fears it may break out any minute. And he has reason to fear, for Prado"
"Vivan Prado, (illegible text) y libertad!" yelled a shrill voice outside.
"Vivan!" shouted fifty other voices, in chorus.
"Them's my sentiments!" cried Jack,turning to the window again. "Vivan!"
Five or six rifles cracked, throwing sharp echoes from the old stone houses. With a vicious whine, something flew in between the window bars and, striking a crystal chandelier, brought a shower of broken prisms on Stowell's head and shoulders before burying itself in the opposite wall. Impatiently the young lawyer shook off the fragments of glass, but paid no other attention to the shot, thus earning a nod of approval from old Mr. Grey as he rose and sauntered to the window.
The sound of the shots had hushed the shouts, for the moment, and a confused murmur of voices, which previously had arisen from the little park and the streets surrounding it. Many men gathered there, for the most part standing in sullen groups, talking together, all of them apart from the police who, with army rifles in their hands, were stationed in pairs at short intervals.
One policeman, however, stood alone. He wore the chevrons of a corporal, and it was he who had fired at the house, for he still held his smoking rifle at "ready" and was peering at the window to see the effect of his shot.
Then, from one of the many other houses that overlooked the plaza, another rifle cracked. The corporal of police fell limply, his piece crashing to the pavement.
"It's a horse to a hen that Tommy Westlock fired that shot!" cried Jack.
"I don' know who Tawmmy Westlock is, but I'm suah glad he did fiah it," remarked old Mr. Grey.
"Why, in heaven's name?" asked Stowell in amazement.
"Why, because othahwise I'd have had to do it myself," responded Mr. Grey, mildly surprised at the simplicity of the question. "That man heard Jack yell, an' he knew who it was. He'd have made trouble, likely, if he'd been allowed to go scot-free. It isn't wise, Jack, to hollahfo' the opposition like that, while Peralta still holds the reins. But what was it you were sayin' when the interruption came?".
"This. Peralta is determined to remain in power, and probably he’ll succeed. He's a soldier. Prado isn't, and neither is Echeverria. The only leader of military ability that the Pradists have is old General Torrenegro, and he's done nothing, so far as any one can tell. He can't; he's too closely watched, and would be arrested instantly if he should try to leave Santa Maria."
"Doubtless," agreed old Mr. Grey. "Still, Danny, I don' jus' see how"
"I was just going to show how this applies to us," the young lawyer went on. "As Peralta will doubtless remain in power, it's to him we'll have to look for our concession. As soon as this uneasiness has passed and he's safe on the job once more, his need for the Henning 'push' and their support will be over. He'd sell his soul for money, if he could find a purchaser. So then all we'll have to do is to 'slip' something over to him and get our concession without any more fuss or worry."
"Won't do, Danny," replied the old man, shaking his head. "Peralta wouldn' stay bought as long as it would take him to pawcket the money. That sawt of dawg nevah does, suh. What we have tuh do is tuh kick Peralta out an' put Prado in."
Stowell looked at Jack, who nodded hearty assent.
Then the young lawyer gave them both up as hopeless. Going to one of the windows, he stood looking with listless indifference at the scene on the plaza. Then, of a sudden, his indifference vanished and he straightened as he stood.
"By Jove, what a pretty girl!" he exclaimed. “And—hang it—she blushed! She must understand English and have heard what I said."
"If being born and largely brought up in New York would teach her English, she probably does," agreed Jack, who was running around the room in a wild search for his hat. "Her name's Helen Westlock. Her brother, Tommy, was a classmate of mine at college, and a chum. Their mother is the wife of old General Torrenegro. Married him when Helen an' Tom were little bits of kids. Tom's been out of the city since before we came. Where in blazes has that lid of mine got to? She mustn't be out there in the street alone!"
He found the missing headgear as he
