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Chapter 6
“VivaCostaguana!”heshrieked,withintenseself-assertion,and,instantlyrufflinguphisfeathers,assumedanairofpuffed-upsomnolencebehindtheglitteringwires.
“Anddoyoubelievethat,Charley?”Mrs.Gouldasked.“Thisseemstomemostawfulmaterialism,and—”
“Mydear,it’snothingtome,”interruptedherhusband,inareasonabletone.“ImakeuseofwhatIsee.What’sittomewhetherhistalkisthevoiceofdestinyorsimplyabitofclap-trapeloquence?There’sagooddealofeloquenceofonesortoranotherproducedinbothAmericas.TheairoftheNewWorldseemsfavourabletotheartofdeclamation.HaveyouforgottenhowdearAvellanoscanholdforthforhourshere—?”
“Oh,butthat’sdifferent,”protestedMrs.Gould,almostshocked.Theallusionwasnottothepoint.DonJosewasadeargoodman,whotalkedverywell,andwasenthusiasticaboutthegreatnessoftheSanTomemine.“Howcanyoucomparethem,Charles?”sheexclaimed,reproachfully.“Hehassuffered—andyethehopes.”
Theworkingcompetenceofmen—whichsheneverquestioned—wasverysurprisingtoMrs.Gould,becauseuponsomanyobviousissuestheyshowedthemselvesstrangelymuddle-headed.
CharlesGould,withacareworncalmnesswhichsecuredforhimatoncehiswife’sanxioussympathy,assuredherthathewasnotcomparing.
