“I’d like to tell him how to run this foolish little island,” said she, puckering a quaintly severe brow.

“Now is the appointed time for you to plunge in and change the course of empire,” her father suggested to her.  “There’s an official morning reception at ten o’clock.  We’re invited.”

“Then I shan’t go.  I wouldn’t give the old goose the satisfaction of going to his fiesta.”

“Meaning the noble and patriotic President?” said Carroll.  “Treason most foul!  The cuartels are full of chained prisoners who have said less.”

“Father can go with Mr. Sherwen.  I shall do some important shopping,” announced Miss Brewster.  “And I don’t want any one along.”

Thus apprised of her intentions, Carroll wrapped himself in gloom, and retired to write a letter.

Miss Polly’s shopping, being conducted mainly through the medium of the sign language, presently palled upon her sensibilities, and about twelve o’clock she decided upon a drive.  Accordingly she stepped into one of the pretty little toy victorias with which the city swarms.

“Para donde?” inquired the driver.

His fare made an expansive gesture, signifying “Anywhere.”  Being an astute person in his own opinion, the Jehu studied the pretty foreigner’s attire with an appraising eye, profoundly estimated that so much style and elegance could be designed for only one function of the day, whirled her swiftly along the two-mile drive of the Calvario Road, and landed her at the President’s palace, half an hour after the reception was over.  Supposing from the coachman’s signs that she was expected to go in and view some public garden, she paid him, walked far enough to be stopped by the apologetic and appreciative guard, and returned to the highway, to find no carriage in sight.  Never mind, she reflected; she needed the exercise.  Accordingly, she set out to walk.

But the noonday sun of Caracuia has a bite to it.  For a time, Miss Brewster followed the car tracks which were her sure guide from the palace to the Kast; briskly enough, at first.  But, after three cars had passed her, she began to think longingly of the fourth.  When it stopped at her signal, it was well filled.  The most promising ingress appeared to be across the blockade of a robust and much-begilded young man, who was occupying the familiar position of an “end-seat hog,” and displaying the full glories of the Hochwaldian dress uniform.

Herr von Plaanden was both sleepy and cross, for, having lingered after the reception to have a word and several drinks with the Minister of Foreign Affairs, he had come forth to find neither coach nor automobile in attendance.  There had been nothing for it but the plebeian trolley.  Accordingly, when he heard a foreign voice of feminine timbre and felt a light pressure against his knee, he only snorted.  What he next felt against his knee was the impact of a half-shove, half-blow, brisk enough to slue him around.  The intruder passed by to the vacant seat, while the now thoroughly awakened and annoyed Hochwaldian whirled, to find himself looking into a pair of expressionless brown goggles.