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" A little saint with a color more lightful than orange.


Authorized Edition


TltotisAecf by


Copyright, 1904, by
Doubleday, Page & Company

V- !

























" The time has come/ the Walrus said,

" To talk of many things;
Of shoes and ships and sealing-wax,

And cabbages and kings."





THEY will tell you in Anchuria, that President
Miraflores, of that volatile republic, died by his own
hand in the coast town of Coralio; that he had
reached thus far in flight from the inconveniences of
an imminent revolution; and that one hundred thou
sand dollars, government funds, which he carried with
him in an American leather valise as a souvenir of
his tempestuous administration, was never afterward

For a real, a boy will show you his grave. It is
back of the town near a little bridge that spans a
mangrove swamp. A plain slab of wood stands at its
head. Some one has burned upon the headstone with
a hot iron this inscription :






4 Cabbages and Kings

It is characteristic of this buoyant people that they
pursue no man beyond the grave. " Let God be his
judge ! " - Even with the hundred thousand unfound,
though greatly coveted, the hue and cry went no
further than that.

To the stringer Or the guest the people of Coralio
will relate the story of the tragic end of their former
president; how he strove to escape from the country
with the public funds and also with Dona Isabel
Guilbert, the young American opera singer ; and how,
being apprehended by members of the opposing po
litical party in Coralio, he shot himself through the
head rather than give up the funds, and, in conse
quence, the Senorita Guilbert. They will relate
further that Dona Isabel, her adventurous bark of
fortune shoaled by the simultaneous loss of her dis
tinguished admirer and the souvenir hundred thou
sand, dropped anchor on this stagnant coast, await
ing a rising tide.

They say, in Coralio, that she found a prompt and
prosperous tide in the form of Frank Goodwin, an
American resident of the town, an investor who had
grown wealthy by dealing in the products of the coun
try a banana king, a rubber prince, a sarsaparilla,
indigo, and mahogany baron. The Senorita Guil
bert, you will be told, married Sefior Goodwin one

The Proem 5

month after the president s death, thus, in the very
moment when Fortune had ceased to smile, wresting
from her a gift greater than the prize withdrawn.

Of the American, Don Frank Goodwin, and of his
wife the natives have nothing but good to say. Don
Frank has lived among them for years, and has com
pelled their respect. His lady is easily queen of what
social life the sober coast affords. The wife of the
governor of the district, herself, who was of the proud
Castilian family of Monteleon y Dolorosa de los
Santos y Mendez, feels honoured to unfold her nap
kin with olive-hued, ringed hands at the table of
Sefiora Goodwin. Were you to refer (with your
northern prejudices) to the vivacious past of Mrs.
Goodwin when her audacious and gleeful abandon
in light opera captured the mature president s fancy,
or to her share in that statesman s downfall and mal
feasance, the Latin shrug of the shoulder would be
your only answer and rebuttal. What prejudices
there were in Coralio concerning Senora Goodwin
seemed now to be in her favour, whatever they had
been in the past.

It would seem that the story is ended, instead of
begun ; that the close of a tragedy and the climax of
a romance have covered the ground of interest ; but,
to the more curious reader it shall be some slight in-

6 Cabbages and Kings

struction to trace the close threads that underlie the
ingenuous web of circumstances.

The headpiece bearing the name of President
Miraflores is daily scrubbed with soap-bark and sand.
An old half-breed Indian tends the grave with fidelity
and the dawdling minuteness of inherited sloth. He
chops down the weeds and ever-springing grass with
his machete, he plucks ants and scorpions and beetles
from it with his horny fingers, and sprinkles its turf
with water from the plaza fountain. There is no
grave anywhere so well kept and ordered.

Only by following out the underlying threads will
it be made clear why the old Indian, Galvez, is
secretly paid to keep green the grave of President
Miraflores by one who never saw that unfortunate
statesman in life or in death, and why that one was
wont to walk in the twilight, casting from a distance
looks of gentle sadness upon that unhonoured

Elsewhere than at Coralio one learns of the im
petuous career of Isabel Guilbert. New Orleans gave
her birth and the mingled French and Spanish creole
nature that tinctured her life with such turbulence
and warmth. She had little education, but a knowl
edge of men and motives that seemed to have come by
instinct. Far beyond the common woman was she

The Proem 7

endowed with intrepid rashness, with a love for the
pursuit of adventure to the brink of danger, and with
desire for the pleasures of life. Her spirit was one to
chafe under any curb ; she was Eve after the fall, but
before the bitterness of it was felt. She wore life as a
rose in her bosom.

Of the legion of men who had been at her feet it
was said that but one was so fortunate as to engage
her fancy. To President Miraflores, the brilliant
but unstable ruler of Anchuria, she yielded the key to
her resolute heart. How, then, do we find her ( as the
Coralians would have told you) the wife of Frank
Goodwin, and happily living a life of dull and dreamy
inaction ?

The underlying threads reach far, stretching across
the sea. Following them out it will be made plain
why " Shorty " O Day, of the Columbia Detective
Agency, resigned his position. And, for a lighter
pastime, it shall be a duty and a pleasing sport to
wander with Momus beneath the tropic stars where
Melpomene once stalked austere. Now to cause
laughter to echo from those lavish jungles and frown
ing crags where formerly rang the cries of pirates
victims ; to lay aside pike and cutlass and attack with
quip and jollity; to draw one saving titter of mirth
from the rusty casque of Romance this were pleas-

8 Cabbages and Kings

ant to do in the shade of the lemon-trees on that coast
that is curved like lips set for smiling.

For there are yet tales of the Spanish Main. That
segment of continent washed by the tempestuous
Caribbean, and presenting to the sea a formidable
border of tropical jungle topped by the overweening
Cordilleras, is still begirt by mystery and romance.
In past times buccaneers and revolutionists roused the
echoes of its cliffs, and the condor wheeled perpetually
above where, in the green groves, they made food for
him with their matchlocks and toledos. Taken and re
taken by sea rovers, by adverse powers and by sudden
uprising of rebellious factions, the historic 300 miles
of adventurous coast has scarcely known for hundreds
of years whom rightly to call its master. Pizarro,
Balboa, Sir Francis Drake, and Bolivar did what they
could to make it a part of Christendom. Sir John
Morgan, Lafitte and other eminent swash-bucklers
bombarded and pounded it in the name of Abaddon.

The game still goes on. The guns of the rovers
are silenced ; but the tintype man, the enlarged photo
graph brigand, the kodaking tourist and the scouts of
the gentle brigade of fakirs have found it out, and
carry on the work. The hucksters of Germany,
France, and Sicily now bag its small change across
their counters. Gentlemen adventurers throng the

The Proem 9

waiting-rooms of its rulers with proposals for railways
and concessions. The little opera-bouffe nations play
at government and intrigue until some day a big, si
lent gunboat glides into the offing and warns them not
to break their toys. And with these changes comes
also the small adventurer, with empty pockets to fill,
light of heart, busy-brained the modern fairy
prince, bearing an alarm clock with which, more
surely than by the sentimental kiss, to awaken the
beautiful tropics from their centuries sleep. Gener
ally he wears a shamrock, which he matches pridefully
against the extravagant palms ; and it is he who has
driven Melpomene to the wings, and set Comedy to
dancing before the footlights of the Southern Cross.

So, there is a little tale to tell of many things. Per
haps to the promiscuous ear of the Walrus it shall
come with most avail ; for in it there are indeed shoes
and ships and sealing-wax and cabbage-palms and
presidents instead of kings.

Add to these a little love and counterplotting, and
scatter everywhere throughout the maze a trail of
tropical dollars dollars warmed no more by the tor
rid sun than by the hot palms of the scouts of For
tune and, after all, here seems to be Life, itself,
with talk enough to weary the most garrulous of



CORALIO reclined, in the mid-day heat, like some
vacuous beauty lounging in a guarded harem. The
town lay at the sea s edge on a strip of alluvial coast.
It was set like a little pearl in an emerald band. Be
hind it, and seeming almost to topple, imminent,
above it, rose the sea-following range of the Cordil
leras. In front the sea was spread, a smiling jailer,
but even more incorruptible than the frowning moun
tains. The waves swished along the smooth beach;
the parrots screamed in the orange and ceiba-trees ;
the palms waved their limber fronds foolishly like
an awkward chorus at the prima donna s cue to enter.

Suddenly the town was full of excitement. A
native boy dashed down a grass-grown street, shriek
ing : " Busca el Senor Goodwin. Ha venido un
telegrafo por el! "

The word passed quickly. Telegrams do not often
come to anyone in Coralio. The cry for Senor Good
win was taken up by a dozen officious voices. The


12 Cabbages and Kings

main street running parallel to the beach became pop
ulated with those who desired to expedite the delivery
of the despatch. Knots of women with complexions
varying from palest olive to deepest brown gath
ered at street corners and plaintively carolled : " Un
telegrafo por Senor Goodwin!" The comandante,
Don Senor el Coronel Encarnacion Rios, who was
loyal to the Ins and suspected Goodwin s devotion to
the Outs, hissed : " Aha ! " and wrote in his secret
memorandum book the accusive fact that Senor Good
win had on that momentous date received a telegram.
In the midst of the hullabaloo a man stepped to
the door of a small wooden building and looked out.
Above the door was a sign that read " Keogh and
Clancy " - a nomenclature that seemed not to be in
digenous to that tropical soil. The man in the door
was Billy Keogh, scout of fortune and progress and
latter-day rover of the Spanish Main. Tintypes and
protographs were the weapons with which Keogh
and Clancy were at that time assailing the hopeless
shores. Outside the shop were set two large frames
filled with specimens of their art and skill.

Keogh leaned in the doorway, his bold and humor
ous countenance wearing a look of interest at the
unusual influx of life and sound into the street. When
the meaning of the disturbance became clear to him

Cf Fox-in-tlie-Morning " 13

he placed a hand beside his mouth and shouted :
" Hey ! Frank ! " in such a robustious voice that the
feeble clamour of the natives was drowned and silenced.

Fifty yards away, on the seaward side of the street,
stood the abode of the consul for the United States.
Out from the door of this building tumbled Goodwin
at the call. He had been smoking with Willard Ged-
die, the consul, on the back porch of the consulate,
which was conceded to be the coolest spot in Coralio.

" Hurry up," shouted Keogh. " There s a riot in
town on account of a telegram that s come for you.
You want to be careful about these things, my boy.
It won t do to trifle with the feelings of the public
this way. You ll be getting a pink note some day
with violet scent on it; and then the country ll be
steeped in the throes of a revolution."

Goodwin had strolled up the street and met the boy
with the message. The ox-eyed women gazed at him
with shy admiration, for his type drew them. He
was big, blonde, and jauntily dressed in white linen,
with buckskin zapatos. His manner was courtly,
with a sort of kindly truculence in it, tempered by a
merciful eye. When the telegram had been delivered,
and the bearer of it dismissed with a gratuity, the re
lieved populace returned to the contiguities of shade
from which curiosity had drawn it the women to

14 Cabbages and Kings

their baking in the mud ovens under the orange-trees,
or to the interminable combing of their long, straight
hair; the men to their cigarettes and gossip in the

Goodwin sat on Keogh s doorstep, and read his tele
gram. It was from Bob Englehart, an American, who
lived in San Mateo, the capital city of Anchuria,
eighty miles in the interior. Englehart was a gold
miner, an ardent revolutionist and " good people."
That he was a man of resource and imagination was
proven by the telegram he had sent. It had been his
task to send a confidential message to his friend in
Coralio. This could not have been accomplished in
either Spanish cr English, for the eye politic in An
churia was an active one. The Ins and the Outs were
perpetually on their guard. But Englehart was a
diplomatist. There existed but one code upon which
he might make requisition with promise of safety
the great and potent code of Slang. So, here is the
message that slipped, unconstrued, through the fingers
of curious officials, and came to the eye of Goodwin:

" His Nibs skedaddled yesterday per jack-rabbit
line with all the coin in the kitty and the bundle of
muslin he s spoony about. The boodle is six figures
short. Our crowd in good shape, but we need the

<e Fotf-in-the-Morning " 15

spondulicks. You collar it. The main guy and the
dry goods are headed for the briny. You know what
to do. BOB."

This screed, remarkable as it was, had no mystery
for Goodwin. He was the most successful of the
small advance-guard of speculative Americans that
had invaded Anchuria, and he had not reached that
enviable pinnacle without having well exercised the
arts of foresight and deduction. He had taken up
political intrigue as a matter of business. He was
acute enough to wield a certain influence among the
leading schemers, and he was prosperous enough to
be able to purchase the respect of the petty office
holders. There was always a revolutionary party ;
and to it he had always allied himself; for the ad
herents of a new administration received the rewards
of their labours. There was now a Liberal party
seeking to overturn President Miraflores. If the
wheel successfully revolved, Goodwin stood to win a
concession to 30,000 manzanas of the finest coffee
lands in the interior. Certain incidents in the recent
career of President Miraflores had excited a shrewd
suspicion in Goodwin s mind that the government was
near a dissolution from another cause than that of a

16 Cabbages and Kings

revolution, and now Englehart s telegram had come as
a corroboration of his wisdom.

The telegram, which had remained unintelligible to
the Anchurian linguists who had applied to it in vain
their knowledge of Spanish and elemental English,
conveyed a stimulating piece of news to Goodwin s
understanding. It informed him that the president
of the republic had decamped from the capital city
with the contents of the treasury. Furthermore, that
he was accompanied in his flight by that winning ad
venturess Isabel Guilbert, the opera singer, whose
troupe of performers had been entertained by the
president at San Mateo during the past month on a
scale less modest than that with which royal visitors
are often content. The reference to the " jack-rab
bit line " could mean nothing else than the mule-back
system of transport that prevailed between Coralio
and the capital. The hint that the " boodle " was
" six figures short " made the condition of the national
treasury lamentably clear. Also it was convincingly
true that the ingoing party its way now made a
pacific one would need the " spondulicks." Unless
its pledges should be fulfilled, and the spoils held for
the delectation of the victors, precarious indeed, would
be the position of the new government. Therefore it

" Fox-in-the-Morning " 17

was exceeding necessary to " collar the main guy,"
and recapture the sinews of war and government.

Goodwin handed the message to Keogh.

"Read that, Billy," he said. "It s from Bob
Englehart. Can you manage the cipher? "

Keogh sat in the other half of the doorway, and
carefully perused the telegram.

" Tis not a cipher," he said, finally. " Tis what
they call literature, and that s a system of language
put in the mouths of people that they ve never been
introduced to by writers of imagination. The maga
zines invented it, but I never knew before that Presi
dent Norvin Green had stamped it with the seal of
his approval. Tis now no longer literature, but lan
guage. The dictionaries tried, but they couldn t
make it go for anything but dialect. Sure, now that
the Western Union indorses it, it won t be long till
a race of people will spring up that speaks it."

" You re running too much to philology, Billy,"
said Goodwin. " Do you make out the meaning of

" Sure," replied the philosopher of Fortune. " All
languages come easy to the man who must know em.
I ve even failed to misunderstand an order to evacuate
in classical Chinese when it was backed up by the
muzzle of a breech-loader. This little literary essay I

18 Cabbages and Kings

hold in my hands means a game of Fox-in-the-Morn-
ing. Ever play that, Frank, when you was a kid? "

" I think so," said Goodwin, laughing. " You join
hands all round, and "

" You do not," interrupted Keogh. " You ve got
a fine sporting game mixed up in your head with c All
Around the Rosebush. The spirit of Fox-in-the-
Morning is opposed to the holding of hands. I ll
tell you how it s played. This president man and
his companion in play, they stand up over in San
Mateo, ready for the run, and shout : Fox-in-the-
Morning ! Me and you, standing here, we say :
Goose and the Gander! They say: * How many
miles is it to London town ? We say : 6 Only a few,
if your legs are long enough. How many comes out?
They say : * More than you re able to catch. And
then the game commences."

" I catch the idea," said Goodwin. " It won t do
to let the goose and gander slip through our fingers,
Billy ; their feathers are too valuable. Our crowd is
prepared and able to step into the shoes of the govern
ment at once ; but with the treasury empty we d stay
in power about as long as a tenderfoot would stick on
an untamed bronco. We must play the fox on every
foot of the coast to prevent their getting out of the

" Fotf in-the-Morning " 19

" By the mule-back schedule," said Keogh, " it s
five days down from San Mateo. We ve got plenty
of time to set our outposts. There s only three
places on the coast where they can hope to sail from
here and Solitas and Alazan. They re the only points
we ll have to guard. It s as easy as a chess problem

- fox to play, and mate in three moves. Oh, goosey,
goosey, gander, whither do you wander? By the
blessing of the literary telegraph the boodle of this
benighted fatherland shall be preserved to the honest
political party that is seeking to overthrow it."

The situation had been justly outlined by Keogh.
The down trail from the capital was at all times a
weary road to travel. A jiggety-joggety journey it
was ; ice-cold and hot, wet and dry. The trail climbed
appalling mountains, wound like a rotten string about
the brows of breathless precipices, plunged through
chilling snow-fed streams, and wriggled like a snake
through sunless forests teeming with menacing in
sect and animal life. After descending to the foot
hills it turned to a trident, the central prong ending
at Alazan. Another branched off to Coralio; the
third penetrated to Solitas. Between the sea and
the foothills stretched the five miles breadth of allu
vial coast. Here was the flora of the tropics in its

rankest and most prodigal growth. Spaces here and

20 Cabbages and Kings

there had been wrested from the jungle and planted
with bananas and cane and orange groves. The rest
was a riot of wild vegetation, the home of monkeys,
tapirs, jaguars, alligators and prodigious reptiles and
insects. Where no road was cut a serpent could
scarcely make its way through the tangle of vines
and creepers. Across the treacherous mangrove
swamps few things without wings could safely pass.
Therefore the fugitives could hope to reach the coast
only by one of the routes named.

" Keep the matter quiet, Billy," advised Goodwin.
" We don t want the Ins to know that the president is
in flight. I suppose Bob s information is something
of a scoop in the capital as yet. Otherwise he would
not have tried to make his message a confidential one ;
and, besides, everybody would have heard the news.
I m going around now to see Dr. Zavalla, and start a
man up the trail to cut the telegraph wire."

As Goodwin rose, Keogh threw his hat upon the
grass by the door and expelled a tremendous sigh.

"What s the trouble, Billy?" asked Goodwin,
pausing. " That s the first time I ever heard you

" Tis the last," said Keogh. " With that sorrow
ful puff of wind I resign myself to a life of praise
worthy but harassing honesty. What are tintypes,

ee Fox-in-the-Morning " 21

if you please, to the opportunities of the great and
hilarious class of ganders and geese? Not that I
would be a president, Frank and the boodle he s
got is too big for me to handle but in some ways
I feel my conscience hurting me for addicting myself
to photographing a nation instead of running away
with it. Frank, did you ever see the 6 bundle of mus
lin that His Excellency has wrapped up and carried

" Isabel Guilbert? " said Goodwin, laughing. " No,
I never did. From what I ve heard of her, though,
I imagine that she wouldn t stick at anything to carry
her point. Don t get romantic, Billy. Sometimes
I begin to fear that there s Irish blood in your ances

" I never saw her either," went on Keogh ; " but
they say she s got all the ladies of mythology, sculp
ture, and fiction reduced to chromos. They say she
can look at a man once, and he ll turn monkey and
climb trees to pick cocoanuts for her. Think of that
president man with Lord knows how many hundreds
of thousands of dollars in one hand, and this muslin
siren in the other, galloping down hill on a sym
pathetic mule amid songbirds and flowers ! And here
is Billy Keogh, because he is virtuous, condemned to
the unprofitable swindle of slandering the faces of

22 Cabbages and Kings

missing links on tin for an honest living! Tis an in
justice of nature."

" Cheer up," said Goodwin. " You are a pretty
poor fox to be envying a gander. Maybe the en
chanting Guilbert will take a fancy to you and your
tintypes after we impoverish her royal escort."

" She could do worse," reflected Keogh ; " but she
won t. Tis not a tintype gallery, but the gallery of
the gods that she s fitted to adorn. She s a very
wicked lady, and the president man is in luck. But
I hear Clancy swearing in the back room for having
to do all the work." And Keogh plunged for the
rear of the "gallery," whistling gaily in a spon
taneous way that belied his recent sigh over the ques
tionable good luck of the flying president.

Goodwin turned from the main street into a much
narrower one that intersected it at a right angle.

These side streets were covered by a growth of
thick, rank grass, which was kept to a navigable
shortness by the machetes of the police. Stone side

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