"No!" Then, with a superhuman effort,
as Emma McChesney stood up, her arms laden with Featherloom samples of
rainbow hues, "PARE! Ar-r-r-rest!"

Mrs. McChesney slammed down the trunk top, locked it, clutched her
samples firmly, and faced the enraged official.

"Go 'way! I haven't time to be arrested this morning. This is my busy
day. Call around this evening."

Whereupon she fled to her waiting cab, leaving behind her a Brazilian
official stunned and raging by turns.

When she returned, happy, triumphant, order-laden, he was standing
there, stunned no longer but raging still. Emma McChesney had
forgotten all about him. The gold-braided official advanced,
mustachios bristling. A volley of Portuguese burst from his long-pent
lips. Emma McChesney glanced behind her. Her interpreter threw up
helpless hands, replying with a still more terrifying burst of vowels.
Bewildered, a little frightened, Mrs. McChesney stood helplessly by.
The official laid a none too gentle hand on her shoulder. A little
group of lesser officials stood, comic-opera fashion, in the
background. And then Emma McChesney's New York training came to her
aid. She ignored the voluble interpreter. She remained coolly
unruffled by the fusillade of Portuguese. Quietly she opened her hand
bag and plunged her fingers deep, deep therein. Her blue eyes gazed
confidingly up into the Brazilian's snapping black ones, and as she
withdrew her hand from the depths of her purse, there passed from her
white fingers to his brown ones that which is the Esperanto of the
nations, the universal language understood from Broadway to Brazil.
The hand on her shoulder relaxed and fell away.

On deck once more, she encountered the suave Senor Pages. He stood at
the rail surveying Rio's shores with that lip-curling contempt of the
Argentine for everything Brazilian. He regarded Emma McChesney's
radiant face.

"You are pleased with this--this Indian Rio?"

Mrs. McChesney paused to gaze with him at the receding shores.

"Like it! I'm afraid I haven't seen it. From here it looks like
Coney. But it buys like Seattle. Like it! Well, I should say I do!"

"Ah, senora," exclaimed Pages, distressed, "wait! In six days you will
behold Buenos Aires. Your New York, Londres, Paris--bah! You shall
drive with my wife and daughter through Palermo. You shall see jewels,
motors, toilettes as never before. And you will visit my
establishment?" He raised an emphatic