and went heaving down the street, his body quivering at every step
as if hung upon a whalebone framework, the breath wheezing noisily
in and out of his chest, the perspiration streaming from his
purple face in rivulets. He put up his guest at the club and
invited some of his friends to join them for dinner that evening
on the wide balcony; then, noting Anthony's heavy clothing, he
said:

"You need some linens, Kirk. That suit looks like a dog bed. You
don't mind my calling you Kirk, do you?"

"I'm flattered. However, I can't get ready-made clothes large
enough, and, besides, it's hardly worth while for the length of
time--"

"Nonsense. Now you're here we won't let you go right back. There's
a Chinese tailor on Bottle Alley who'll have you a suit to measure
by noon to-morrow, and he only charges seven dollars, goods and
all."

Accordingly, the two journeyed to Bottle Alley and selected some
linen, whereupon, instead of one suit, the consul ordered three,
having them charged to his account.

Kirk really enjoyed that evening at the Wayfarers Club, for, once
the cool of evening had come, the place filled up rapidly with as
fine a crowd of men as he had ever met. There were young fellows
from the railroad offices, merchants from the town, engineers from
the big job, the proximity of which made itself felt like a
mysterious presence. There was a trader from down the San Blas