oulders, and dressed in white ducks,
and wore a long, well-trimmed dark beard, and swung a gold-headed cane,
and had a big ring on one finger. Cogan heard him on the wharf that
day--he talked pretty good English--helping out a Chinese merchant who
was kicking about the freight charges on some cases he wanted to ship
across the peninsula. The American gang running the railroad down there
used to charge what they pleased in those days, and Cogan had a sympathy
for anybody that bucked them--he'd had to pay eight dollars gold for a
run to Panama and back himself--and he and the grand duke got chummy and
looked the town over together; but not much to look at, and this evening
they drifted into this place--the Russian taking a high-ball and Cogan
another ginger ale--to have an excuse to hang around and see what was
doing.

"There wasn't much doing. Half a dozen discouraged looking girls were
sitting to tables in the place. From California, Mexico, Jamaica they
were, and had come on just as soon as they could when they heard about
the Revolution, thinking that with the crowd of Americans who were sure
to rush down to the peninsula, there ought to be a living for a few
clever ladies like themselves. But up to this time the rush hadn't got
beyond war correspondents and navy people, and now the poor things were
sitting to tables and looking as if they wished somebody would loosen up
and buy a drink--even if it was no more than a glass of moxie.

"Cogan's grand duke turned out to be a Peruvian, a dealer in Panama hats
from Lima, and he told Cogan a lot about Panama hats, which weren't
Panama hats at all, and other interesting things--South America politics
and bull fighting especially. He had a brother Juan, who was a famous
mounted capeador, he said--that's the man who sits with a red cloak on a
horse in the first part of the bull fight and Cogan could see that he
was very proud of him.

"Cogan and his Peruvian friend were getting on fine, when a tremendous
old Indian woman filled up the doorway, and said something in Spanish to
the Peruvian, and he got up, explaining to Cogan that his daughter
Valera, who had come with him on this trip to see the strange peoples,
had sent to say that he must not forget his good-night before she fell
asleep. 'She never allows me to forget that,' said the Peruvian. 'Also
possibly she knows,' he smiled, 'that if I am at home I shall not be in
mis-cheef,' and he said he hoped they'd meet again nex