“That’s how it impresses me.  But perhaps we only imagine it.  Hello, here comes Mr. Baker with the mail!  We ought to hear from New York.”

“Hasn’t Birdie Lee written yet?” asked Joe.

“Oh, drop that!” warned Blake, his eyes flashing.

There was a letter from Mr. Hadley, in which he conveyed news and information that made Blake and Joe definitely decide to make the trip to Panama.

“And take Alcando with us?” asked Joe.

“I suppose so,” said Blake, though it could not be said that his assent was any too cordial.

“Then we’d better tell him, so he’ll know it is settled.”

“All right.  We can ride over on the motor cycle.”

A little later, after a quick trip on the “gasoline bicycle,” the moving picture boys were at the only hotel of which Central Falls boasted.  Mr. Alcando was in his room, the clerk informed the boys, and they were shown up.

“Enter!” called the voice of the Spaniard, as they knocked.  “Ah, it is you, my young friends!” he cried, as he saw them, and getting up hastily from a table on which were many papers, he began hastily piling books on top of them.

“For all the world,” said Joe, later, “as though he were afraid we’d see something.”

“I am delighted that you have called,” the Spaniard said, “and I hope you bring me good news.”

“Yes,” said Blake, “we are going—­”

As he spoke there came in through the window a puff of air, that scattered the papers on the table.  One, seemingly part of a letter, was blown to Blake’s feet.  He picked it up, and, as he handed it back to Mr. Alcando, the lad could not help seeing part of a sentence.  It read: 

“... go to Panama, get all the pictures you can, especially the big guns....”

Blake felt himself staring eagerly at the last words.

CHAPTER VII

IN NEW YORK

“Ah, my letters have taken unto themselves wings,” laughed the Spaniard, as he stooped to pick up the scattered papers.  “And you have assisted me in saving them,” he went on, as he took the part of the epistle Blake held out to him.

As he did so Mr. Alcando himself had a glimpse of the words Blake had thought so strange.  The foreigner must have, in a manner, sensed Blake’s suspicions, for he said, quickly: 

“That is what it is not to know your wonderful American language.  I, myself, have much struggles with it, and so do my friends.  I had written to one of them, saying I expected to go to Panama, and he writes in his poor English, that he hopes I do go, and that I get all the pictures I can, especially big ones.”

He paused for a moment, looking at Blake sharply, the boy thought.  Then the Spaniard went on: 

“Only, unfortunately for him, he does not yet know the difference between ‘guns’ and ‘ones.’  What he meant to say was that he hoped I would get big pictures—­big ones, you know.  And I hope I do.  I suppose you do take big moving pictures—­I mean pictures of big scenes, do you not?” and he included Joe in the question he asked.