Gad, do I remember it? You got out by fighting, and I
through a pretty girl."
"And your nerve," chuckled Whittemore, crushing the other's hand.
"That was when I made up my mind you were the nerviest man alive,
Greggy. Did you ever learn what became of Donna Isobel?"
"She appeared twice in Burke's, once as the 'Goddess of the
Southern Republics' and again as 'The Girl of Valencia.' She
married that reprobate of a Carabobo planter, and I believe
they're happy."
"It seems to me there were others," continued Whittemore,
pondering for a moment in mock seriousness. "There was one at Rio
whom you swore would make your fortune if you could get her to sit
for you, and whose husband was on the point of putting six inches
of steel into you for telling her so, when I explained that you
were young and harmless, and a little out of your head--"
"With your fist," cried Gregson, joyously. "Gad, but that was a
mighty blow! I can see that knife now. I was just beginning my
paternoster when--chug!--and down he went! And he deserved it. I
said nothing wrong. In my very best Spanish I asked her if she
would sit for me, and why the devil did he take that as an insult?
And she was beautiful."
"Of course," agreed Whittemore.
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