ood job. But why I asked was
this: if Miss Fuller's quite satisfied about you, she'll probably put her
maverick brother in your charge. She came here not long ago with the
object of finding out if I was suited for the post, and I imagined
learned something about me in a quiet way. It was a relief when she
obviously decided that I wasn't the proper man. The girl has
intelligence. If she had asked me, I could have recommended you."

"Do you know much about her brother?"

"I've learned something. The lad's a breakaway from the sober Fuller
type; and I think his views of life rather agree with mine. However,
perhaps we had better let Miss Fuller tell you what she thinks fit. And
now would you like some Francois Villon?"

"No," said Dick firmly. "I want to see that Moran turns out his gang at
sunrise and must get back."

"Pick me up the book, anyhow," Bethune replied, and laughed good-humoredly
when Dick left him.

CHAPTER VII

DICK UNDERTAKES A RESPONSIBILITY

The glare of the big arc-lights flooded the broad, white plaza when Dick
crossed it on his way to the Hotel Magellan. The inhabitants of Santa
Brigida had finished their evening meal and, as was their custom, were
taking the air and listening to the military band. They were of many
shades of color and different styles of dress, for dark-skinned peons in
plain white cotton, chattering negroes, and grave, blue-clad Chinamen
mingled with the citizens who claimed to spring from European stock.
These, however, for the most part, were by no means white, and though
some derived their sallow skin from Andalusian and Catalan ancestors,
others showed traces of Carib origin.

The men were marked by Southern grace; the younger women had a dark,
languorous beauty, and although their dress was, as a rule, an out of
date copy of Parisian modes, their color taste was good, and the creamy
white and soft yellow became them well. A number of the men wore white
duck, with black or red sashes and Panama hats, but some had Spanish
cloaks and Mexican sombreros.

Flat-topped houses, colored white and pink and lemon, with almost
unbroken fronts, ran round the square. A few had green lattices and
handsome iron gates to the arched entrances that ran like a tunnel
through the house, but many showed no opening except a narrow slit of
barred window. Santa Brigida was old, and the part near the plaza had
been built four hundred years ago.

Dick glanced carelessly at the crowd a