In spite of his panic-struck protestations that he knew less than nothing about woman’s requirements, she led him up-town.  And she kept him at her side all that morning while she made her purchases; then when she had loaded him down with parcels she invited him to take her to lunch.  The girl was so keenly alive and so delighted with the prospect of adventure that Johnnie could not long remain displeased with her.  She had an irresistible way about her, and he soon found himself sharing her good spirits.  She had a healthy appetite, too; when O’Reilly set out for his lodgings after escorting her home he walked in order to save car fare.  Clams, consomme, chicken salad, French pastry, and other extravagances had reduced his capital to zero.

The days of idle waiting that followed were trying, even to one of O’Reilly’s philosophic habit of mind.  He could learn nothing about the Junta’s plans, and, owing to his complete uncertainty, he was unable to get work.  Leslie Branch, too, failed to find steady employment, though he managed, by the sale of an occasional column, to keep them both from actual suffering.  His cough, meanwhile, grew worse day by day, for the spring was late and raw.  As a result his spirits rose, and he became the best of all possible good companions.  Johnnie, who was becoming constantly more fond of him, felt his anxiety increase in proportion to this improvement in mood; it seemed to him that Branch was on the very verge of a collapse.

At last there came a message which brought them great joy.  Enriquez directed them to be in readiness to leave Jersey City at seven o’clock the following morning.  Neither man slept much that night.

As they waited in the huge, barn-like station Enriquez appeared with Norine Evans upon his arm.  The girl’s color was high; she was tremulous with excitement.  Leslie Branch, who saw her for the first time, emitted a low whistle of surprise.

“Glory be!  That goddess!” he cried.  “And I called her a ’poor old soul’!”

When Norine took his bony, bloodless hand in her warm grasp and flashed him her frank, friendly smile, he capitulated instantly.  In hyperbolical terms he strove to voice his pleasure at the meeting; but he lost the thread of his thought and floundered so hopelessly among his words that Norine said, laughingly: 

“Now, Mr. Branch, bold buccaneers don’t make pretty speeches.  Hitch up your belt and say, ‘Hello, Norine!’ I’ll call you Leslie.”

“Don’t call me ‘Leslie,’” he begged.  “Call me often.”

Then he beamed upon the others, as if this medieval pun were both startling and original.  It was plain that he wholly and inanely approved of Norine Evans.

Enriquez was introducing a new-comer now, one Major Ramos, a square-jawed, forceful Cuban, who, it seemed, was to be in command of the expedition.

“My duties end here,” Enriquez explained.  “Major Ramos will take charge of you, and you must do exactly as he directs.  Ask no questions, for he won’t answer them.  Do you think you can follow instructions?”