Cabbages and Kings
O. Henry
XV Dickey Page 2
"By jingo," said Dicky, who seemed to speak in English or Spanish as the whim seized him, "this is dry provender, ~muchachita~. Is this the best you can dig up for a fellow?"
Pasa looked at him as a mother looks at a beloved but capricious babe.
"Think better of it," she said, in a low voice; "since for the next meal there will be nothing. The last ~centavo~ is spent." She pressed closer against the grating.
"Sell the goods in the shop--take anything for them."
"Have I not tried? Did I not offer them for one-tenth their cost? Not even one ~peso~ would any one give. There is not one ~real~ in this town to assist Dickee Malonee."
Dick clenched his teeth grimly. 'That's the ~comandante~," he growled. "He's responsible for that sentiment. Wait, oh, wait till the cards are all out."
Dicky caught a faint gleam of steel from the folds of her mantilla. For once she looked in his face and saw it without a smile, stern, menacing and purposeful. Then he suddenly raised his hand and his smile came back like a gleam of sunshine. The hoarse signal of an incoming steamer's siren sounded in the harbor. Dicky called to the sentry who was pacing before the door: "steamer comes?"
"The ~Catarina~."
"Without doubt, of that line."
"Go you, ~picarilla~, "said Dicky joyously to Pasa, "to the American consul. Tell him I wish to speak with him. See that he comes at once. And look you! let me see a different look in those eyes, for I promise your head shall rest upon this arm tonight.
"Now, see here, Maloney, "he began, captiously, "you fellows seem to think you can cut up any kind of row, and expect me to pull you out of it. I'm neither the War Department nor a gold mine. This country has its laws, you know, and there's one against pounding the senses out of the regular army. You Irish are forever getting into trouble. I don't see what I can do. Anything like tobacco, now, to make you comfortable--or newspapers--"
"Son of Eli," interrupted Dicky, gravely, "you haven't changed an iota. That is almost a duplicate of the speech you made when old Koen's donkeys and geese got into the chapel loft, and the culprits wanted to hide in your room."
"Oh, heavens!" exclaimed the consul, hurriedly adjusting his spectacles. "Are you a Yale man, too? Were you in that crowd? I don't seem to remember any one with red--any one named Maloney. Such a lot of college men seem to have misused their advantages. One of the best mathematicians of the class of '91 is selling lottery tickets in Belize. A Cornell man dropped off here last month. He was second steward on a guano boat. I'll write to the department if you like, Maloney. Or if there's any tobacco, or newspa--"
'There's nothing," interrupted Dicky, shortly, "but this. You go tell the captain of the ~Catarina~ that Dicky Maloney wants to see him as soon as he can conveniently come. Tell him where I am. Hurry. That's all."
The consul, glad to be let off so easily, hurried away. The captain of the ~Catarina~, a stout man, Sicilian born, soon appeared, shoving, with little ceremony, through the guards to the jail door. The Vesuvius Fruit Company had a habit of doing things that way in Anchuria.
"I am exceeding sorry--exceeding sorry," said the captain, "to see this occur. I place myself at your service, Mr. Maloney. What you need shall be furnished. Whatever you say shall be done."
Dicky looked at him unsmilingly. His red hair could not detract from his attitude of severe dignity as he stood, tall and calm, with his now grim mouth forming a horizontal line.
"Captain De Lucco, I believe I still have funds in the hands of your company--ample and personal funds. I ordered a remittance last week. The money has not arrived. You know is needed in this game. Money and money and more money. Why has it not been sent?"
"By the ~Cristobal~," replied De Lucco, gesticulating, "it was despatched. Where is the ~Cristobal~? Off Cape Antonio I spoke her with a broken shaft. A tramp coaster was towing her back to New Orleans. I brought money ashore thinking your need for it might not withstand delay. In this envelope is one thousand dollars. There is more if you need it, Mr. Maloney."
"For the present it will suffice," said Dicky, softening as he crinkled the envelope and looked down at the half-inch thickness of smooth, dingy bills.
"The long green!" he said, gently, with a new reverence in his gaze. "Is there anything it will not buy, Captain?"
"I had three friends," replied De Lucco, who was a bit of a philosopher, "who had money. One of them speculated in stocks and made ten million; another is in heaven, and the third married a poor girl whom he loved."
"The answer, then," said Dicky, "is held by the Almighty, Wall Street, and Cupid. So, the question remains."
"No, no," said Dicky. "This is merely the result of a little private affair of mine, a digression from the regular line of business. They say for a complete life a man must know poverty, love, and war. But they don't go well together, ~capitan mio~. No; there is no failure in my business. The little shop is doing very well."
the captain had departed Dicky called the sergeant of the jail squad and asked:
"Am I ~preso~ by the military or by the civil authority?"
"Surely there is no martial law in effect now, senor."
"~Bueno~. Now go or send to the ~alcalde~, the ~Juez de la Paz~ and the ~Jefe de los Policios~. Tell them I am prepared at once to satisfy the demands of justice." A folded bill of the "long green" slid into the sergeant's hand.
Then Dicky's smile came back again, for he knew that the hours of his captivity were numbered; and he hummed, in time with the sentry's tread:
"They're hanging men and women now, For lacking of the green."
So, that night Dicky sat by the window of the room over his shop an his little saint sat close by, working at something silken and dainty. Dicky was thoughtful and grave. His red hair was in an unusual state of disorder. Pasa's fingers often ached to smooth and arrange it, but Dicky would never allow it. He was poring, tonight, over a great litter of maps and books and papers on his table until that perpendicular line came between his brows that always distressed Pasa. Presently she went and his hat, and stood with it until he looked up, inquiringly.
"It is sad for you here," she explained. "Go out and drink ~vino blanco~. Come back you get that smile you used to wear. That is what I wish to see."
Dicky laughed and threw down his papers. "The ~vino blanco~ stage is past. It has served its turn. Perhaps, after all, there was less entered my mouth and more my ears than people thought. But, there will be no more maps or frowns tonight. I promise you that. Come."
They sat upon a reed ~silleta~ at the window and watched the quivering gleams from the lights of the ~Catarina~ reflected in the harbor.
Presently Pasa rippled out one of her infrequent chirrups of audible laughter.
"I was thinking," she began, anticipating Dicky's question, "of the foolish things girls have in their minds. Because I went to school in the States I used to have ambitions. Nothing less than to be the president's wife would satisfy me. And, look, thou red picaroon, to what obscure fate thou hast stolen me!"
"Don't give up hope," said Dicky, smiling. "More than one Irishman has been the ruler of a South American country. There was a dictator of Chili named O'Higgins. Why not a President Maloney, of Anchuria? Say the word, ~santita mia~, and we'll make the race."
"No, no, no, thou red-haired, reckless one!" sighed Pasa; "I am content"--she laid her head against his arm--"here."