Long Live the King!

As it transpired, the captain's warning reached Max just in time. Another day and it might have been too late. The incident I am about to relate took place on a warm morning. They were nearing the Equator, and Max was stretched on the poop skylight, reading, when Moreas made his appearance. The latter offered him an excellent cigar, and after they had been smoking for a time proposed a game of ecarté. Max, who, I regret to say, was an inveterate gambler, immediately assented, not, however, without thinking of the captain's warning. His companion immediately produced a pack of cards. The steward, on being appealed to, brought a small folding table from below, whereupon the game commenced. For some time they played with varying success, then Max, contrary to custom, began to win. They doubled the stakes and played again. Once more Max won. They played another hand, still with the same result. An ominous look flashed into Moreas' eyes, but it was gone again as quickly.

"I am glad to see that your luck has turned at last, Señor," he said, with a suspicion of a sneer about his lips.

"Fortune must smile some time or other," retorted Max coolly. "It would be hard indeed if I were always to have the same luck that I've had of late. It is your deal, I fancy."

Moreas accordingly dealt, and they played the next hand. Suddenly Max laid down his cards, back uppermost, and leant across the table.

"Forgive me, Señor," he said, "but I feel sure there is some little mistake. We have played two rounds, and I see that you still have four cards in your hand."

The remainder of the pack was lying at the Spaniard's elbow, and Max noticed a suspicious movement of the other's sleeve a few seconds before. Had he not spoken when he did, the other would have rid himself of one of his cards without delay.

"Carambo! so I have," he said, with a well-simulated astonishment. "I must offer you ten thousand apologies, Señor, for having unwittingly made such a mistake. I do not know how it occurred."

As he said this he fixed his beady eyes upon Max's face, as though to give him warning that if he had anything to say on the subject it had better be of a conciliatory nature.

"I feel sure of that," Max answered good-humouredly, for he had not the least intention of quarrelling with him. He only wanted to let the other see that he was quite aware of his man[oe]uvres, and that they must not be attempted in the future. "Are you tired or shall we play another hand?"

"I think a little rest, Señor, would be acceptable," Moreas responded. "It is so hot under this awning. I will ask you for my revenge another time."

With that he rose and lit a fresh cigar. Going to the companion hatch, he called to the steward to bring a couple of bottles of beer and some glasses on deck. When these arrived, he insisted that Max and the captain, who had just arrived on the poop, should join him. To all appearances he was as calm and as friendly as usual, but there was still a gleam in his eyes that spoke for the smouldering fire in the brain behind.

"It is too hot," he said, spreading his arms abroad. "How shall we amuse ourselves? We have read, we have played, and now we have drunk beer. What else is there for us to do?"

Then, as if an idea had struck him, he continued:

"I wonder if our good friend, the captain, here, would permit us to have some pistol practice. There would be no danger, believe me, if we shoot over the stern."

Max understood what was in his mind. Though he had pretended to do so, the other had not forgotten the incident of the cards, and now he was going to give him, in case he should be inclined to spread the report abroad, an exhibition of his powers with the pistol. It was a hint delicately administered.

"I don't know that I ought to allow it," said the captain doubtfully; "but seeing that we have no ladies aboard, and that you promise to fire over the stern, we will risk it. Don't shoot each other, and don't keep it up too long, that's all I ask."

Moreas gave his promise and immediately disappeared below, to appear a few moments later, carrying in his hand a revolver, a piece of string, and a dozen medium-sized apples. Reaching the deck, he made one of the apples fast by the string to the wire rope that carried the awning. When this was done it hung midway between the awning and the taffrail, and afforded an excellent target.

"Have you done much shooting with the revolver?" Moreas inquired of Max, as he returned from placing the fruit in position.

"A little," the other replied.

"In that case shall we say thirty paces?"

"Whatever you like," said Max.

The distance was accordingly measured, and a chalk line drawn upon the deck.

"Shall we bet on the shot," remarked Moreas, taking a box of cartridges from his pocket and carefully filling the chambers of the revolver.

"Why not?" answered Max, still with the same imperturbability. "What shall it be? Name the sum."

"Let it be whatever you please," returned his polite adversary. "Since we are loaded with English gold shall we say half a sovereign?"

"Half a sovereign will suit me admirably," the other replied. "Perhaps you will commence?"

Nothing loath, Moreas toed the line, and, when he had examined the revolver to make sure that it was in working order, fired. The bullet hit the apple dividing it as neatly as if it had been cut with a knife.

"Bravo!" said Max. "I owe you half a sovereign."

The Spaniard handed him the revolver, and he, in his turn, took his place at the line. As boys, Max and I had been keen pistol shots, and I was quite prepared when I reached this part of his narrative to find that he had imitated Moreas' example and destroyed the target. To my surprise, however, he chronicled a miss.

"I owe you a sovereign," he said, handing the revolver to his adversary.

"You will come to it directly," the other replied patronisingly.

Once more Moreas toed the line and fired. He missed his mark, however, by some inches. An oath in Spanish escaped his lips as he handed the revolver to Max. The latter had recovered his presence of mind by this time, and when he pulled the trigger the ball pierced the apple in the centre.

"A good shot," said one of the men behind him, and Moreas, who, though he deemed it a fluke, felt compelled to agree.

"We are equal now," said Max quietly.

Again Moreas fired, but this time he hit the apple on its side, causing it to swing backwards and forwards like a pendulum. One cartridge still remained in the revolver. Max waited until the target was ready, then fired and again hit his mark. The shot was a good one, and this time there was no question of chance about it. Moreas changed colour as far as it was possible to do, and began to think that his exhibition was scarcely likely to serve the purpose for which it was intended. Once more the revolver was charged, and out of the six shots fired Max struck the apple three times and Moreas twice. Whether it was the salutary lesson he had received, or whether it was because, as he informed him later, he had taken a great liking to Max, I cannot say; the fact remains, however, that from that moment they agreed most amicably together. That he was aware Max did not trust him very far did not appear to detract from their friendliness. On the other hand, it may have added a spice to it, somewhat as bitters at times improve a glass of sherry. One day he asked Max point-blank what he intended doing when he reached his destination.

"Up to the present I have settled nothing," Max replied. "I am leaving it to chance to decide."

"It's not a bad idea," Moreas answered. "Brazil is a great place for chance. Your life is one long gamble from the time you set foot ashore until they put you under ground."

"The picture you draw is not a very cheerful one," remarked Max; "particularly for the confiding emigrant."

"Oh, you need not be afraid," said Moreas confidently. "A man who can shoot as you do will always be able to keep his head above water. And now I am going to make you a little offer, which it may possibly be worth your while some day to accept. My advice to you is to try your luck first in your own fashion, and if you don't succeed, just come to me and see what I can do for you. Will you agree to this proposal?"

"It's extremely kind of you to take so much interest in me," Max returned, "and of course I agree. I should be foolish if I did not. But where and how am I to find you in the event of my being compelled to accept your offer?"

"That is easily arranged. I will give you my address before I leave the vessel." Then he added, with pardonable vanity, "It is scarcely necessary, however; I believe I am fairly well known in Rio."

Next day he handed Max his card, on which his name and address was set forth with many flourishes.

"At least," said Max to himself as he stowed it away in a safe place, "there is something here to fall back upon."

CHAPTER VIII

To disembark in a strange port, particularly a foreign one, is, to the thinking man, invariably an interesting experience. The difference in architecture, in costume, in language, and in custom, attracts the attention and, if one may employ the expression in such a case, titillates the senses, like the first taste of a rare wine to which one has yet to grow accustomed.

Of all the cities of South America, Rio de Janeiro is, perhaps, the most cosmopolitan, the most representative, and at the same time the most contradictory. It is up to date, yet in many things it is sadly behind the times; it is beautiful in some respects, yet indescribably hideous in others; taken altogether it is a human abode full of bizarre contrasts, that step out and confront one at every turn. Generous and hospitable in certain directions, it is cruel and treacherous, almost to the borders of fanaticism, in others. To the right one sees a desire to copy Europe, to the left what would appear to be a deliberate attempt to disregard her altogether. It is these little idiosyncrasies that make Rio de Janeiro what it is, namely, one of the most instructive and fascinating cities in the world.

As soon as he had breakfasted on board in the harbour, Max hired a boat and made his way ashore. His luggage had already preceded him to the Custom House. Reaching the quay he set off, by way of the Rua Direita, in search of that building. What a strange collection of humanity he found crowded together in the streets! Faultlessly attired ladies, elegant gentlemen in frock coats and high hats, negroes and negresses, the latter decked out in the gayest colours, deformed, haggard, slouchy soldiers, Italian newspaper boys, cigarette-smoking policemen, clad in brown holland and quaint shakos, all helped to constitute a human jumble of the most varied and interesting description. Following the Rua Direita he entered the Rua d'Ouvidor, the fashionable street, indeed, one might almost say the Bond Street, of the city. Thence he continued his walk by way of the Rua dos Ourives, the Palais Royale of Rio, to the Custom House, where his baggage was examined and be told that he was at liberty to take it where he pleased. Chartering a small tilbury, a species of cab peculiar to Brazil, he drove to the Candido Hotel, in the Larangeiras, where he engaged a room, installed himself in it, and then prepared to look about him. He had considerably less than thirty pounds left in his money-belt; and when he became aware of this fact he could have cursed himself for his folly in having gambled with Moreas on board the Diamintina. It was done, however, and now he had to face the consequences. As he told himself, it was no use crying over spilt milk, and no amount of regret would bring the money back. One thing, however, was painfully certain – he must find some employment without delay. But in what direction was he to look for it? Putting on his hat, and stowing the key of his room away in his pocket, he set off on a tour of inspection. When he reached the principal business thoroughfares he kept his eyes open for an English name. It was some time, however, before he discovered one. Why he should have decided in favour of England, and have rejected Germany and Pannonia, both of whom were of nearer kin to him than the Island of the West, I can only hazard a guess. The fact remains, however, that he did so. When he had selected one that looked promising he entered, and inquired if he might see the merchant. Unfortunately, the clerk informed him, he was not in town that day. He left, and tried another further down the street. This one had already more clerks than was sufficient for his purpose, and could not dream of engaging another. The next was courteous, but equally firm in his refusal. A hundred yards or so further on he discovered a German firm, and, thinking a change of nationality might influence his luck, went in and asked his usual question. Yes; it was quite true that they stood in need of a clerk, but what experience and what references had he to offer? He informed his interrogator that he had none. He had only to add that he had spent the last five years of his life in the English army to have his services declined with thanks, and to find himself in the street once more. His next attempt was with a Portuguese Jew, who offered him employment at a wage that would have meant little else than genteel beggary for him. This post he declined of his own free will. "Things are beginning to look cheerful, I must say," he remarked to himself when he was in the street once more. "If I'm not more successful than this I shall have to fall back on Moreas after all." At last, and just when he was beginning to think that he would give up trying for that day, he found himself face to face with an office, on the window of which, written in gold letters, was "Brockford, Brent, & Kerton, English Merchants and Importers." He determined to go inside once more and try his luck. He accordingly entered the office, and, as usual, inquired for the head of the firm. A clerk, who was entering some figures in a large ledger, looked up and informed him that Mr. Brockford was engaged for a moment, and, having done so, inquired his business.

"To see Mr. Brockford," Max replied curtly. "If you don't think he will be long, I'll wait a few moments."

Five minutes or so later a man emerged from the inner office, and Max was conducted to Mr. Brockford's presence. The latter was a tall, thin man, with a somewhat hatchet-shaped face, clean-shaven cheeks, grey hair, and shaggy eyebrows. According to Brazilian custom, he was in his shirt-sleeves, and equally according to custom, the inevitable cigar was between his lips. Seeing that he had a gentleman, and one who was also a stranger to the country, to deal with, he invited Max to be seated, at the same time pushing a box of cigars towards him.

"What may I have the pleasure of doing for you?" he inquired in English, and with a courtesy that Max attributed to the anticipation of a large order, but which was in reality habitual to him.

"Well," said Max, "to tell the truth, I have come to see you in the hope that you may be able to give me something to do. I arrived from England this morning in the steamship Diamintina, and as I've not much money, I want to find employment as soon as I possibly can. I've tried a number of offices, but cannot hear of anything."

The other glanced at his visitor's well-cut clothes, elegant boots, and general air of refined dandyism. He was not accustomed to receiving applications for employment from young men who looked like princes in disguise.

"I'm afraid I have nothing to offer you," he said after a momentary pause. "Things are very quiet in Rio just now, and we are more inclined to discharge our clerks than to take fresh ones on. What were you doing before you came out here?"

This was the question Max had been dreading. It had brought him to grief so many times that day.

"I was in the English army," he replied. "I held a commission in a cavalry regiment. I'm afraid I do not know much about business, but I am fairly quick at picking up things, and if you will give me a chance, I fancy you will not find me wanting in diligence."

The other drummed with his fingers on the desk before him, and as he did so he pulled almost savagely at his cigar. It was a trick he had when thinking.

"I don't ask you any questions as to why you gave up the army and came out to take a clerkship in Rio," he said at last; "but if I were you I should keep that part of my history to myself. An officer from a crack regiment seldom develops into a good clerk."

"You are probably right. I must try to remember it. And now to return to my request. Is it quite impossible for you to do anything for me?"

"I am afraid I can do nothing personally," the other replied. "That is to say, I cannot take you into my office, but I rather fancy I can help you in another direction. Do you speak Spanish?"

"I speak Spanish, German, Pannonian, and English, with equal fluency," Max answered, feeling that for once the education of a Crown Prince, in the matter of languages at least, had its uses.

"That is very much in your favour," said Mr. Brockford, "and now, perhaps, you will have no objection to telling me your name? I have not heard it yet."

"My name is Mortimer," Max returned, with a momentary hesitation, that was not lost on his companion – "Max Mortimer."

"Well then, Mr. Max Mortimer, I am prepared to tell you that although I never saw you until a few moments ago, although you have held a commission in a cavalry regiment in England, and have seen fit to give it up in order to take to clerking in Brazil, and last, but not least, although you call yourself Mortimer, which I feel quite certain is not your name, as I say, I am prepared – "

"Pardon me," said Max, interrupting him. "Since you have such a poor opinion of my character, it would perhaps be better that I should look elsewhere for employment."

He had risen and was going to leave the office, when the other signed to him to sit down again.

"Hoighty-toighty," he said, "what is the matter with you now? Why are you so thin-skinned? Surely you are not foolish enough to be offended because I speak my mind plainly to you when you want assistance? Leaving everything else out of the question, it is a poor return you are willing to make me for trying to help you."

Max saw the mistake he had made, and was quick to apologise for his apparent rudeness.

"Forgive me," he said. "I'm afraid I've a hasty temper. To be candid with you, I haven't quite shaken down yet to my lot in life."

Brockford blew a cloud of smoke before he answered.

"I was going to say, when you interrupted me, that although I cannot help you myself, I think I know of a man who may be able to do so. He is a Spaniard, but none the worse for that. His name is Señor José de Montezma. I happen to know that he is in want of an English corresponding clerk. We are on friendly terms, and I shall be very happy to take you along with me and introduce you to him at once; that is, of course, providing you think the position is likely to suit you."

It seemed to Max as if his luck were going to change at last, and, needless to say, he gladly accepted the invitation. Lighting another cigar, the senior partner led him from the office into the street, where they made their way along the pavement in the opposite direction to which Max had come. At length they reached the office of Montezma & Co.

Having requested his companion to wait in the counting house, while he interviewed the head of the firm, Brockford disappeared into the inner sanctum. Five minutes later he reappeared, and invited Max to enter. The latter did so, to find himself in the presence of a fat little man, who he soon discovered was one of the cheeriest and most popular merchants in Brazil.

"My friend, Señor Brockford, informs me that you are desirous of obtaining the position of corresponding clerk in my employment," observed the Spaniard.

"What Señor Brockford says is quite true," Max replied. "If you will give it to me, I will do my best to show you that your confidence is not misplaced."

The other smiled and rubbed his hands.

"On my friend Señor Brockford's introduction, I shall be happy to engage your services," he said, with as much dignity as if he had been conferring upon the other the order of the Golden Fleece.

After the disappointments of the morning Max felt that he had fallen upon his feet indeed.

"I only hope I shall be able to repay you for your kindness," he said. "Doubtless Mr. Brockford has informed you that I have had but little experience in business matters. If you will bear with me for a short time, however, I have no doubt I shall be able, in the end, to give you satisfaction."

"I have not the least doubt of it," the Senhor replied.

The office hours having been explained to him, the salary arranged, and various other minor details settled to their mutual satisfaction, Max and Mr. Brockford left the office together.

"I cannot tell you how thankful I am to you for what you have done for me," said the former when they were in the street once more. "It seems all the kinder for the reason that I am an entire stranger to you."

"One Englishman can never be an entire stranger to another in a foreign country," said Brockford oracularly. "We always feel called upon to do the best we can for each other. Besides – "

He stopped abruptly, as if he had suddenly changed his mind, and did not feel inclined to put his thoughts into words. Five minutes later they had reached his own office.

"You will feel rather lonely on your first night in a new country," he said. "Won't you dine with me, and spend the night at my house? I am a bachelor, and live on the Island of Paquetá. I shall have much pleasure in taking you back with me. No, don't thank me! You can do that later on if you like. You are staying at Candido's Hotel, I fancy you said? In that case, if you take the first turning to the left, and then the next to the right, and afterwards continue straight on, you will reach it. I shall expect to see you at half-past four."

Without giving Max time to accept or decline his invitation, he retired into his office, leaving him free to make his way back to his hotel. This he did with a heart overflowing with gratitude for the kindness he had received.

"I certainly can't grumble at my luck now," he said to himself, as he walked along.

Punctual to the moment he returned to Mr. Brockford's office. This time he entered it with the air of a man who occupied an assured position in the world. Even the clerks, having had evidence before them that their employer was well disposed towards the stranger, treated him in a different fashion to what they had done when he had first made his appearance.

"You are punctual," said Mr. Brockford, as soon as he was admitted to his presence. "It is a good omen in a country like this, where everything is put off to be done at a future date; a business habit of that description cannot be too highly commended. Though I fear, however well we start, we all fall into evil ways in the end. Even our friend Montezma, who is an excellent business man in his way, is no exception to the rule. Now, if you are ready, let us be off."

Then they set off in the direction of the quay. As they passed through the city Max had an opportunity of seeing how well his companion was known. He was occupied almost continually receiving and returning salutations. Reaching the waterside they descended a flight of steps, at the foot of which a neat steam launch was awaiting them. They took their places and were soon steaming down the bay, bound for the Island of Paquetá, one of the loveliest spots in Rio Bay, and ten miles distant from the city.

As Max was soon to discover, Mr. Brockford's residence was on a par with his reputation. It was a charming place in every way, exquisitely quiet and restful after the bustle and excitement of the city. The house itself, a long one-storied building, surrounded by a deep verandah, was comfortably, but not ostentatiously, furnished. In the dining-room were several good pictures, among others a view of Carisbrooke Castle. It was by a well-known artist, and Max stood for some little time before it.

"Is not this Carisbrooke?" he inquired, turning to his host, who was mixing a cool drink at the sideboard.

"Yes, Carisbrooke," the other replied, turning round. "When I was a boy I lived in the Isle of Wight, not a mile from the ruins. Do you know the place?"