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"Viva Colombia! Pobre Panama!"

Captain Bradshaw aimed an accusing finger at the bird and exclaimed:

"Shut up! You talk too much."

"That was the whole trouble, sir," said Walter, wondering whether he was to be punished or commended. "General Quesada brought this—this broom-handle on himself. He was trying to shoot Señor Alfaro."

"I need no diagrams to tell me that Señor Alfaro sailed into him first," said the captain. "This had been brewing for some time. I shall have to investigate after breakfast."

A little later Walter discovered Fernandez Garcia Alfaro seated upon a hatch-cover forward. At sight of his Anglo-Saxon ally the impulsive Colombian sprang to his feet and cried, with outstretched hands:

"You have saved my life! I shall never forget it, mi amigo. I have hated the North Americans, but my heart is full of affection for you."

Rather taken aback by this tribute, Walter said in a matter-of-fact manner:

"You surely piled into that fat general like a West India hurricane. I'm glad I spoiled his programme."