capital by train. You want to watch out he don't catch you. His name is
Jones." I promised to be on my guard against a man named Jones, and the
consul escorted me to the ship. As he went down the accommodation
ladder, I called over the rail: "In case they _should_ declare war,
cable to Curaçoa and I'll come back. And don't cable anything
indefinite, like 'Situation critical' or 'War imminent.' Understand?
Cable me, 'Come back' or 'Go ahead.' But whatever you cable, make it
_clear_."

He shook his head violently and with his green-lined umbrella pointed
at my elbow. I turned and found a young man hungrily listening to my
words. He was leaning on the rail with his chin on his arms and the brim
of his Panama hat drawn down to conceal his eyes.

On the pier-head, from which we now were drawing rapidly away, the
consul made a megaphone of his hands.

"That's _him_," he called. "That's Jones."

Jones raised his head, and I saw that the tropical heat had made Jones
thirsty, or that with friends he had been celebrating his departure. He
winked at me, and, apparently with pleasure at his own discernment and
with pity for me, smiled.

"Oh, of course!" he murmured. His tone was one of heavy irony. "Make it
'clear.' Make it clear to the whole wharf. Shout it out so's everybody
can hear you. You're 'clear' enough." His disgust was too deep for
ordinary words. "My uncle!" he exclaimed.

By this I gathered that he was expressing his contempt.