Coincidently with the departure of Preston Fairfax Fitzhugh Carroll from the hotel in his cab, the Unspeakable Perk emerged from a store near the far corner of the square, which exploited itself in the purest Castilian as offering the last word in the matter of gentlemen’s apparel.  “Articulos para Caballeros” was the representation held forth upon its signboard.

If it had articled Mr. Perkins, it must be confessed that it had done its job unevenly, not to say fantastically.  His linen was fresh and new, quite conspicuously so, and, therefore, in sharp contrast to the frayed and patched, but scrupulously clean and neatly pressed khaki suit, which set forth rather bumpily his solid figure.  A serviceable pith helmet barely overhung the protrusive goggles.  His hands were encased in white cotton gloves, a size or two too large.  Dismal buff spots on the palms impaired their otherwise virgin purity.  As the wearer carried his hands stiffly splayed, the blemishes were obtrusive.  Altogether, one might have said that, if he were going in for farce, he was appropriately made up for it.

At the corner above the beggar’s niche he was turning toward a pharmacist’s entrance, when the mirth of the departing crowd that had been enjoying the free oratory attracted his attention.  He glanced across at the beggar, now rocking rhythmically on his stumps, hesitated a moment, then ran down the steps.

At the same moment Carroll’s cab stopped on the other angle of the curb.  The occupant put forth his head, saw the goggled freak descending to the legless freak, and sat back again.

“Hola, Pancho!  Are you ill?” asked the newcomer.

The beggar only swung back and forth, muttering with frenzied rapidity.  With one hand the Unspeakable Perk stopped him, as one might intercept the runaway pendulum of a clock, setting the other on his forehead.  Then he bent and brought his goblin eyes to bear on the dark face.  The features were distorted, the eyelids tremulous over suffused eyes, and the teeth set.  Opening the man’s loose shirt, Perkins thrust his hand within.  It might have been supposed that he was feeling for the heart action, were it not that his hand slid past the breast and around under the arm.  When he drew it out, he stood for a moment with chin dropped, in consideration.

Midday heat had all but cleared the plaza.  As he looked about, the helper saw no aid, until his eye fell upon the waiting cab.  He fairly bounded up the stairs, calling something to the coachman.

“No,” grunted that toiler, with the characteristic discourtesy of the Caracunan lower class, and jerked his head backward toward his fare.

“I beg your pardon,” said the Unspeakable Perk eagerly, in Spanish, turning to the dim recess of the victoria.  “Might I—­Oh, it’s you!” He seized Carroll by the arm.  “I want your cab.”

“Indeed!” said Carroll.  “Well, you’re cool enough about it.”