whole drug stores of his wrath on oligarchies and potentates in red trousers and calico shoes.  And we issues a declaration of interference in which we guarantee that the fourth day of July shall be celebrated in Salvador with all the kinds of salutes, explosions, honours of war, oratory, and liquids known to tradition.  Yes, neither me nor Jones breathed with soul so dead.  There shall be rucuses in Salvador, we say, and the monkeys had better climb the tallest cocoanut trees and the fire department get out its red sashes and two tin buckets.

“About this time into the factory steps a native man incriminated by the name of General Mary Esperanza Dingo.  He was some pumpkin both in politics and colour, and the friend of me and Jones.  He was full of politeness and a kind of intelligence, having picked up the latter and managed to preserve the former during a two years’ residence in Philadelphia studying medicine.  For a Salvadorian he was not such a calamitous little man, though he always would play jack, queen, king, ace, deuce for a straight.

“General Mary sits with us and has a bottle.  While he was in the States he had acquired a synopsis of the English language and the art of admiring our institutions.  By and by the General gets up and tiptoes to the doors and windows and other stage entrances, remarking ‘Hist!’ at each one.  They all do that in Salvador before they ask for a drink of water or the time of day, being conspirators from the cradle and matinee idols by proclamation.

“‘Hist!’ says General Dingo again, and then he lays his chest on the table quite like Gaspard the Miser.  ’Good friends, senores, to-morrow will be the great day of Liberty and Independence.  The hearts of Americans and Salvadorians should beat together.  Of your history and your great Washington I know.  Is it not so?’

“Now, me and Jones thought that nice of the General to remember when the Fourth came.  It made us feel good.  He must have heard the news going round in Philadelphia about that disturbance we had with England.

“‘Yes,’ says me and Maxy together, ’we knew it.  We were talking about it when you came in.  And you can bet your bottom concession that there’ll be fuss and feathers in the air to-morrow.  We are few in numbers, but the welkin may as well reach out to push the button, for it’s got to ring.’

“‘I, too, shall assist,’ says the General, thumping his collar-bone.  ’I, too, am on the side of Liberty.  Noble Americans, we will make the day one to be never forgotten.’

“‘For us American whisky,’ says Jones—­’none of your Scotch smoke or anisada or Three Star Hennessey to-morrow.  We’ll borrow the consul’s flag; old man Billfinger shall make orations, and we’ll have a barbecue on the plaza.’

“‘Fireworks,’ says I, ’will be scarce; but we’ll have all the cartridges in the shops for our guns.  I’ve got two navy sixes I brought from Denver.’

“‘There is one cannon,’ said the General; ’one big cannon that will go “BOOM!” And three hundred men with rifles to shoot.’