nevertheless he shook hands warmly with Coronel Saturnino. The colonel was a handsome young officer, in uniform, and his sword leaned against the desk at which he sat writing. Saturnino's face tended toward squareness, and he had a low forehead. His thick black hair was glossy with youth. His square-cut face was marked with a faintly superior smile, as though he perceived all the weaknesses of the person who was before him and was slightly amused by them. He was of middle height. Strawbridge would have called him heavy-set except for a remarkably slender waist. When the colonel stood up and shook hands with the drummer, Strawbridge discovered that he was in the presence of an athlete. The salesman put himself on a friendly footing with this officer at once, just as he always did with the clerks in American stores. He seated himself on the edge of Coronel Saturnino's desk, very much at ease.
“Well, I thought I was going to land the old general right off the bat!” he confided, laughing.
“Yes?” inquired Saturnino, politely, still standing. “Why your haste?”
“Oh, well—” Strawbridge wagged his head—“push your business or your business will push you. Never put off till to-morrow what you can do to-day. Why, there might be a German salesman in here to-morrow with another line of goods!”
“Is a German salesman coming?” asked the colonel, quickly.
“Oh, no, no, no! I said there might be.” Strawbridge reached into an inner pocket, drew out and flipped open a silver case. “Have a cigar.”
“No, thank you.” The colonel hesitated, and added, “I don't smoke after twelve o'clock at night.”
Strawbridge jumped up.
“Good Lord! is it as late as that?”
