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It was early in the morning, and Walter had finished his share of washing down decks under the critical eye of the Norwegian boatswain. Alfaro came out of his state-room and paced the wide promenade. His demeanor was cheerful and he appeared to have forgotten his irritation.

As he halted to greet Walter, there came from an open window near by the harsh, screaming accents of a parrot which cried jeeringly:

"Viva Roosevelt! Viva Panama! Pobre Colombia! Pobre Colombia! Ha! Ha! Ha!"

Fernandez Garcia Alfaro spun round to glare at the disreputable bunch of green feathers which, from its gilded cage, continued to cackle its sentiments concerning "Poor Colombia" with diabolical energy. The young man's black eyes flashed astonishing wrath and hatred, and Walter Goodwin, watching the tableau with a perplexed air, said laughingly:

"Anything personal in the parrot's remarks?"

Alfaro shook both fists at the offending bird and passionately answered in his fluent English:

"It is an insult to me and my country. It is meant to be the worst kind of an insult. I will kill the cursed parrot before I leave this ship. I am a Colombian, as you know. My father is a minister of the government. Panama was stolen from my country to be made into a republic. It was a revolution? Bah! Nonsense! The soldiers of Colombia could have stopped that little revolution, quick. It was your Teddy Roosevelt, it was your Uncle Sam with the Big Stick that prevented us. Colombia weeps, she is disgraced, when she thinks of Panama."