n, as though excusing himself, he added sharply, "Besides, you talk
too much."

Roddy, deeply hurt, answered with equal asperity:

"That is what your parrot thinks. Maybe you are both wrong."

When Roddy had reached the top of the stairs leading to the street,
and was on the point of disappearing, the Consul called sharply to him
and followed into the hall.

"Before you go," the old man whispered earnestly, "I want you clearly
to understand my position toward the Rojas family. When I was Consul
in Porto Cabello, General Rojas became the best friend I had. Since I
have been stationed here it has been my privilege to be of service to
his wife. His daughters treat me as kindly as though I were their own
grandfather. No man on earth could wish General Rojas free as much as
I wish it." The voice of Captain Codman trembled. For an instant his
face, as though swept with sudden pain, twisted in strange lines. "No
one," he protested, "could wish to serve him as I do, but I warn you
if you go on with this you will land in prison yourself, and you will
bring General Rojas to his death. Take my advice--and go back to Porto
Cabello, and keep out of politics. Or, what is better--go home. You
are too young to understand the Venezuelans, and, if you stay here,
you are going to make trouble for many people. For your father, and
for--for many people."

As though with the hope of finally dissuading Roddy, he added
ominously, "And these Venezuelans have a nasty trick of sticking a
knife----"

"Oh, you go to the devil!" retorted Roddy.

As he ran down the dark stairs and out into the glaring street he
heard faintly the voice of the parrot pursuing him, with mocking and
triumphant jeers.

The Consul returned slowly to his office, and, sinking into his chair,
buried his face in his great, knotty hands and bent his head upon the
table. A ray of sunshine, filtering through the heavy Venetian
blinds, touched the white hair and turned it into silver.

For a short space, save for the scratching of the parrot at the tin
bars of his cage, and the steady drip, drip of the water-jar, there
was no sound; then the voice of the sea-captain, as many times before
it had been raised in thanksgiving in the meeting-house in Fairhaven,
and from the deck of his ship as she drifted under the Southern Cross,
was lifted in entreaty. The blue eyes, as the old man raised them,
were wet; his bronzed fists fiercely interlocked.

"Oh, Thou," he prayed, "wh