CHAPTER II.

THE SPORTING PRESIDENT

The President's name was Harris William Tetson. His wife had been Mary Appleton, born of cultured parents in Philadelphia. She welcomed Hemming in the most friendly manner. The third member of the family was a tall girl, with a soft voice and an English accent. She shook hands with Hemming, and he noticed that the pressure of her hand was firm and steady, like that of a man's. She wore glasses. The light from the shaded candles glowed warm on her white neck and arms. Hemming had not expected to find any one like this in the interior of South America. He used to know girls like her at home, and one in particular flashed into his memory with a pang of bitterness. In his agitation, he almost overlooked the extended hand of Mr. Valentine Hicks.

The dinner was of great length. A few of the dishes were American, but most were of the country. Two dusky servants waited upon the diners. The claret was to Hemming's taste, and, as he listened to Miss Tetson describe an incident of her morning's ride, a feeling of rest and homeliness came to him. A little wind stole in from the roses and fountains, and the man of wars and letters, great dreams and unsung actions, saw, with wondering eyes, that it loosened a red petal from the roses at her shoulder and dropped it upon her white arm. He looked up sharply, and only the light of genial friendship remained in the eyes that met those of Valentine Hicks. But Hicks looked sulky; understanding came to the heart of Hemming. At last the dinner came to an end, and Tetson dropped the subject of freight on sugar, and took up the lighter one of real estate. Coffee was brought; no one listened to Tetson, but he prosed on, his good-natured face turned toward the shadows in the ceiling, a yellow cigar stuck jauntily in his mouth. Hemming was busy with his own thoughts, wondering into what nest of lunatics his free-lancing had brought him. He longed for O'Rourke's help. The girl drew something from her bodice, and laid it before him. It was a cigarette-case.

"You may take one, if you do not bore us by looking shocked," she said.

Hemming drew forth a cigarette, and lit it at the nearest candle. "As to being shocked," he replied, "why, I used to know a girl who--" he stopped suddenly and glanced down at his coffee. "Of course it is quite the thing now," he added, in stilted tones.

Hicks refused a cigarette from the silver case, and moodily puffed at a black native cigar. Mrs. Tetson did not smoke, but entertained the others with a description of her first and only attempt at the recreation.

The little wind died away. Outside, the fountain splashed sleepily. The blood-red petal fell from the girl's arm to the whiter cloth. A flame-bewildered moth bungled into the President's coffee. Hemming's workaday brain was lulled to repose, and now he was only Hemming the poet. He looked into the eyes across the table. But he had lived so long with men, and the foolish, evident affairs of generals and statesmen, that Miss Tetson's glances were as weapons for which he knew no manual of defence. They touched him more than he liked, awaking in his hitherto disciplined memory a hundred fibres of broken dreams. And every fibre tingled like a nerve with a sweetness sharp as pain,--and time swung back, and all the healing of his long exile was undone.

When the ladies rose from the table, Mr. Tetson came over to Hemming and nudged him confidentially. He looked very sly. "What d'ye say to a game of billiards?" he whispered.

"Delighted," murmured Hemming, relieved that his strange host had not suggested something worse.

"I like the game," continued Tetson, "but as Hicks is a damn fool at it, I don't indulge very often. Hicks is too young, anyway,--a nice fellow, but altogether too young for men to associate with. Trotting 'round with the girls is more in his line."

"Really," remarked the newcomer, uneasily. He was not quite sure whether or not Hicks had got out of ear-shot.

"Fact," said the President,--"cold truth. Marion can't play, either. I've had Santosa up several times for a game, but he's too dashed respectful to beat me. You'll not be that way, Hemming?"

"I should hope not," replied Hemming, absently, his eyes still turned toward the door through which the rest of the party had vanished.

"What d'ye say to five dollars the game?" Tetson whispered. The adventurer's heart sank, but he followed his host to the billiard-room with an unconcerned air. They played until past midnight, the President in his shirt-sleeves, with the yellow cigar smouldering always. A servant marked for them, and another uncorked the soda-water. After the last shot had been made, Valentine Hicks strolled in, with his hands in his pockets and his brow clouded.

"Did the old man do you?" he inquired of Hemming.

The free-lance shook his head. "I took ten pounds away from him," he said.

The secretary whistled.