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Page 12
"'Was Zaldas that maroon-colored old Aztec with a paper collar on and
unbleached domestic shoes?' I asked.
"'He was,' says O'Connor.
"'I saw him tucking a yellow-back into his vest pocket as he came out,'
says I. 'It may be,' says I, 'that they call you a library door, but
they treat you more like the side door of a bank. But let us hope for
the worst.'
"'It has cost money, of course,' says O'Connor; 'but we'll have the
country in our hands inside of a month.'
"In the evenings we walked about in the plaza and listened to the band
playing and mingled with the populace at its distressing and obnoxious
pleasures. There were thirteen vehicles belonging to the upper classes,
mostly rockaways and old-style barouches, such as the mayor rides in at
the unveiling of the new poorhouse at Milledgeville, Alabama. Round and
round the desiccated fountain in the middle of the plaza they drove, and
lifted their high silk hats to their friends. The common people walked
around in barefooted bunches, puffing stogies that a Pittsburg
millionaire wouldn't have chewed for a dry smoke on Ladies' Day at his
club. And the grandest figure in the whole turnout was Barney O'Connor.
"Six foot two he stood in his Fifth Avenue clothes, with his eagle eye
and his black moustache that tickled his ears. He was a born dictator
and czar and hero and harrier of the human race. It looked to me that
all eyes were turned upon O'Connor, and that every woman there loved
him, and every man feared him. Once or twice I looked at him and thought
of funnier things that had happened than his winning out in his game;
and I began to feel like a Hidalgo de Officio de Grafto de South America
myself. And then I would come down again to solid bottom and let my
imagination gloat, as usual, upon the twenty-one American dollars due me
on Saturday night.
"'Take note,' says O'Connor to me as thus we walked, 'of the mass of the
people. Observe their oppressed and melancholy air. Can ye not see that
they are ripe for revolt? Do ye not perceive that they are disaffected?'
"'I do not,' says I. `Nor disinfected either. I'm beginning to
understand these people. When they look unhappy they're enjoying
themselves. When they feel unhappy they go to sleep. They're not the
kind of people to take an interest in revolutions.'
"'They'll flock to our standard,' says O'Connor. 'Three thousand men in
this town alone will spring to arms when the signal is given. I am
assured of that. But everything is in secret. There is no chance for us
to fail.'
"On Hooligan Alley, as I prefer to call the street our headquarters was
on, there was a row of flat 'dobe houses with red tile roofs, some straw
shacks full of Indians and dogs, and one two-story wooden house with
balconies a little farther down. That was where General Tumbalo, the
comandante and commander of the military forces, lived. Right across the
street was a private residence built like a combination bake-oven and
folding-bed. One day, O'Connor and me were passing it, single file, on
the flange they called a sidewalk, when out of the window flies a big
red rose. O'Connor, who is ahead, picks it up, presses it to his fifth
rib, and bows to the ground. By Carrambos! that man certainly had the
Irish drama chaunceyized. I looked around expecting to see the little
boy and girl in white sateen ready to jump on his shoulder while he
jolted their spinal columns and ribs together through a breakdown, and
sang: `Sleep, Little One, Sleep.'
"As I passed the window I glanced inside and caught a glimpse of a white
dress and a pair of big, flashing black eyes and gleaming teeth under a
dark lace mantilla.
"When we got back to our house O'Connor began to walk up and down the
floor and twist his moustaches.
"`Did ye see her eyes, Bowers?' he asks me.
"`I did,' says I, `and I can see more than that. It's all coming out
according to the story-books. I knew there was something missing. 'Twas
the love interest. What is it that comes in Chapter VII to cheer the
gallant Irish adventurer? Why, Love, of course--Love that makes the hat
go around. At last we have the eyes of midnight hue and the rose flung
from the barred window. Now, what comes next? The underground passage--
the intercepted letter--the traitor in camp--the hero thrown into a
dungeon--the mysterious message from the senorita--then the
outburst--the fighting on the plaza--the--'
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