P.S. —Hello！ Uncle Obadiah. How’s the old burg rackingalong？ What would the government do without you andme？ Look out for a green-headed parrot and a bunch ofbananas soon， from your old friend
Johnny，
“I throw in that postscript，” explained the consul， “soUncle Obadiah won’t take offense at the official toneof the letter！ Now， Billy， you get that correspondencefixed up， and send Pancho to the post-office with it. TheAriadne takes the mail out tomorrow if they make up thatload of fruit today.”
The night programme in Coralio never varied. Therecreations of the people were soporific and flat. Theywandered about， barefoot and aimless， speaking lowly andsmoking cigar or cigarette. Looking down on the dimlylighted ways one seemed to see a threading maze of brunetteghosts tangled with a procession of insane fireflies. In somehouses the thrumming of lugubrious guitars added to thedepression of the triste night. Giant tree-frogs rattled inthe foliage as loudly as the end man’s “bones” in a minstreltroupe. By nine o’clock the streets were almost deserted.
Not at the consulate was there often a change of bill.
Keogh would come there nightly， for Coralio’s one coolplace was the little porch of that official residence. Thebrandy would be kept moving； and before midnightsentiment would begin to stir in the heart of the selfexiledconsul. Then he would relate to Keogh the storyof his ended romance. Each night Keogh would listenpatiently to the tale， and be ready with untiring sympathy.
“But don’t you think for a minute” —thus Johnny wouldalways conclude his woeful narrative— “that I’m grievingabout that girl， Billy. I’ve forgotten her. She never entersmy mind. If she were to enter that door right now， mypulse wouldn’t gain a beat. That’s all over long ago.”
“Don’t I know it？” Keogh would answer. “Of courseyou’ve forgotten her. Proper thing to do. Wasn’t quite 0.
K. of her to listen to the knocks that—er—Dink Pawsonkept giving you.”
“Pink Dawson！” —a word of contempt would be inJohnny’s tones— “Poor white trash！ That’s what he was.
Had five hundred acres of farming land， though； and thatcounted. Maybe I’ll have a chance to get back at him someday. The Dawsons weren’t anybody. Everybody in Alabamaknows the Atwoods. Say， Billy—did you know my motherwas a De Graffenreid？”
“Why， no，” Keogh would say； “is that so？” He had heardit some three hundred times.
“Fact. The De Graffenreids of Hancock County. But Inever think of that girl any more， do I， Billy？”
“Not for a minute， my boy，” would be the last soundsheard by the conqueror of Cupid.
At this point Johnny would fall into a gentle slumber，and Keogh would saunter out to his own shack under thecalabash tree at the edge of the plaza.
In a day or two the letter from the Dalesburg postmasterand its answer had been forgotten by the Coralio exiles.
But on the 26th day of July the fruit of the reply appearedupon the tree of events.
The Andador， a fruit steamer that visited Coralioregularly， drew into the offing and anchored. The beach waslined with spectators while the quarantine doctor and thecustom-house crew rowed out to attend to their duties.
An hour later Billy Keogh lounged into the consulate，clean and cool in his linen clothes， and grinning like apleased shark. “Guess what？” he said to Johnny， loungingin his hammock.
“Too hot to guess，” said Johnny， lazily.
“Your shoe-store man’s come，” said Keogh， rolling thesweet morsel on his tongue， “with a stock of goods bigenough to supply the continent as far down as Tierra delFuego. They’re carting his cases over to the custom-housenow. Six barges full they brought ashore and have paddledback for the rest. Oh， ye saints in glory！ won’t there beregalements in the air when he gets onto the joke and hasan interview with Mr. Consul？ It’ll be worth nine years inthe tropics just to witness that one joyful moment.”
Keogh loved to take his mirth easily. He selected a cleanplace on the matting and lay upon the floor. The wallsshook with his enjoyment. Johnny turned half over andblinked.
“Didn’t tell me，” he said， “that anybody was fool enoughto take that letter seriously.”
“Four-thousand-dollar stock of goods！” gasped Keogh，in ecstasy. “Talk about coals to Newcastle！ Why didn’t hetake a ship-load of palm-leaf fans to Spitzenbergen whilehe was about it？ Saw the old codger on the beach. Youought to have been there when he put on his specs andsquinted at the five hundred or so barefooted citizensstanding around.”
“Are you telling the truth， Billy？” asked the consul，weakly.
“Am I？ You ought to see the buncoed gentleman’sdaughter he brought along. Looks！ She makes the brickdustsenoritas here look like tar-babies.”
“Go on，” said Johnny， “if you can stop that asininegiggling. I hate to see a grown man make a laughing hyenaof himself.”
“Name is Hemstetter，” went on Keogh. “He’s a—Hello！
what’s the matter now？”
Johnny’s moccasined feet struck the floor with a thud ashe wriggled out of his hammock.
“Get up， you idiot，” he said， sternly， “or I’ll brain youwith this inkstand. That’s Rosine and her father. Gad！
what a drivelling idiot old Patterson is！ Get up， here， BillyKeogh， and help me. What the devil are we going to do？
Has all the world gone crazy？”
Keogh rose and dusted himself. He managed to regain adecorous demeanor.
“Situation has got to be met， Johnny，” he said， withsome success at seriousness. “I didn’t think about its beingyour girl until you spoke. First thing to do is to get themcomfortable quarters. You go down and face the music，and I’ll trot out to Goodwin’s and see if Mrs. Goodwinwon’t take them in. They’ve got the decentest house intown.”