n Keogh planned a more spectacular demonstration of
the idea he wished to keep before the public.

He and White engaged rooms in the Hotel de los Estranjeros. The
two were clad in new suits of immaculate duck, with American straw
hats, and carried canes of remarkable uniqueness and inutility. Few
caballeros in Coralio--even the gorgeously uniformed officers of
the Anchurian army--were as conspicuous for ease and elegance of
demeanour as Keogh and his friend, the great American painter, Senor
White.

White set up his easel on the beach and made striking sketches of the
mountain and sea views. The native population formed at his rear in a
vast, chattering semicircle to watch his work. Keogh, with his care
for details, had arranged for himself a pose which he carried out
with fidelity. His role was that of friend to the great artist, a
man of affairs and leisure. The visible emblem of his position was a
pocket camera.

"For branding the man who owns it," said he, "a genteel dilettante
with a bank account and an easy conscience, a steam-yacht ain't in it
with a camera. You see a man doing nothing but loafing around making
snap-shots, and you know right away he reads up well in 'Bradstreet.'
You notice these old millionaire boys--soon as they get through
taking everything else in sight they go to taking photographs.
People are more impressed by a kodak than they are by a title or
a four-carat scarf-pin." So Keogh strolled blandly about Coralio,
snapping the scenery and the shrinking senoritas, while White posed
conspicuously in the higher regions of art.

Two weeks after their arrival, the scheme began to bear fruit.
An aide-de-camp of the president drove to the hotel in a dashing
victoria. The president desired that Senor White come to the Casa
Morena for an informal interview.

Keogh gripped his pipe tightly between his teeth. "Not a cent less
than ten thousand," he said to the artist--"remember the price.
And in gold or its equivalent--don't let him stick you with this
bargain-counter stuff they call money here."

"Perhaps it isn't that he wants," said White.

"Get out!" said Keogh, with splendid confidence. "I know what he
wants. He wants his picture painted by the celebrated young American
painter and filibuster now sojourning in his down-trodden country.
Off you go."

The victoria sped away with the artist. Keogh walked up and down,
puffing great clouds of smoke from his pipe, and waited. In an hour
the vic