In spite of his manner, which was much too familiar and patronizing,
the young man amused me, and I must confess moreover that at that
moment I felt very far from home and was glad to meet an American, and
one not so much older than myself. The fact that he was our consul
struck me as a most fortunate circumstance.

He clapped his hands and directed one of the negroes to carry my trunk
to the consulate, and I walked with him up the pier, the native
soldiers saluting him awkwardly as he passed. He returned their salute
with a flourish, and more to impress me I guessed than from any regard
for them.

"That's because I'm Consul," he said, with satisfaction. "There's only
eight white men in Porto Cortez," he explained, "and we're all
consular agents. The Italian consular agent is a Frenchman, and an
Italian, Guessippi--the Banana King, they call him--is consular agent
for both Germany and England, and the only German here is consular
agent for France and Holland. You see, each of 'em has to represent
some other country than his own, because his country knows why he left
it." He threw back his head and laughed at this with great delight.
Apparently he had already forgotten the rebuff from Captain Leeds. But
it had made a deep impression upon me. I had heard Leeds virtually
accuse the consul of being an agent of General Laguerre, and I
suspected that the articles he had refused to deliver were more likely
to be machine guns than sewing-machines. If this were true, Mr. Aiken
was a person in whom I could confide with safety.

The consulate was a one-story building of corrugated iron, hot,
unpainted, and unlovely. It was set on wooden logs to lift it from the