, but the gallery of the gods that she's fitted to
adorn. She's a very wicked lady, and the president man is in luck.
But I hear Clancy swearing in the back room for having to do all the
work." And Keogh plunged for the rear of the "gallery," whistling
gaily in a spontaneous way that belied his recent sigh over the
questionable good luck of the flying president.

Goodwin turned from the main street into a much narrower one that
intersected it at a right angle.

These side streets were covered by a growth of thick, rank grass,
which was kept to a navigable shortness by the machetes of the
police. Stone sidewalks, little more than a ledge in width, ran along
the base of the mean and monotonous adobe houses. At the outskirts
of the village these streets dwindled to nothing; and here were set
the palm-thatched huts of the Caribs and the poorer natives, and the
shabby cabins of negroes from Jamaica and the West India islands. A
few structures raised their heads above the red-tiled roofs of the
one-story houses--the bell tower of the _Calaboza_, the Hotel de los
Estranjeros, the residence of the Vesuvius Fruit Company's agent,
the store and residence of Bernard Brannigan, a ruined cathedral in
which Columbus had once set foot, and, most imposing of all, the
Casa Morena--the summer "White House" of the President of Anchuria.
On the principal street running along the beach--the Broadway
of Coralio--were the larger stores, the government _bodega_ and
post-office, the _cuartel_, the rum-shops and the market place.

On his way Goodwin passed the house of Bernard Brannigan. It was a
modern wooden building, two stories in height. The ground floor was
occupied by Brannigan's store, the upper one contained the living
apartments. A wide cool porch ran around the house half way up its
outer walls. A handsome, vivacious girl neatly dressed in flowing
white leaned over the railing and smiled down upon Goodwin. She was
no darker than many an Andalusian of high descent; and she sparkled
and glowed like a tropical moonlight.

"Good evening, Miss Paula," said Goodwin, taking off his hat, with
his ready smile. There was little difference in his manner whether
he addressed women or men. Everybody in Coralio liked to receive the
salutation of the big American.

"Is there any news, Mr. Goodwin? Please don't say no. Isn't it
warm? I feel just like Mariana in her moated grange--or was it a
range?--it's hot enough."

"No, there's no news to