polite, how soft and insinuating his voice, and how
treacherous his smile--a smile that smiled all alone
by itself, while the cunning, glittering eyes recorded
an entirely different brain suggestion--Mawkum
gone, I say, the little man examined the door to see
that it was tight shut, glanced furtively about the
room, resumed his seat, slowly opened the largest
and most flaringly decorated envelope and produced
a document signed with a name and titles that covered
half the page. Then he began to talk at the rate of
fifty words to the second; like the rattle of a ticker
in a panic: of Alvarez, the saviour of his country--
his friend!--his partner; of the future of Moccador
under his wise and beneficent influence, the Lighthouse
being one of the first improvements; of its being
given to him to erect because of his loyalty to the
cause, and to the part he had taken in overturning
that despot, the Tyrant Paramba, who had ruled
the republic with a rod of iron. Now it was all over
--Paramba was living in the swamps, hunted like
a dog. When he was caught--and they expected it
every day--he would be brought to the capital, San
Juan, in chains--yes, Senor, in chains--and put to
work on the roads, so that everybody could spit upon
him--traitor! Beast, that he was! And there would
be other lighthouses--the whole coast was to be as
light as day. Senor Law-TON had said he could speak
with perfect confidence--he was doing so, trusting
to the honor of the Grandiose--the most distinguished
--etc., etc. And now--this in a summing-up voice