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"As much as that! Oh, Mr. Bleke!" She began to cry softly. She pressed his hand. Roland gaped at her. "Mr. Bleke, there has been a terrible slump in Wildcat Reefs. To-day, they may be absolutely worthless." Roland felt as if a cold hand had been laid on his spine. "Wor-worthless!" he stammered. Mrs. Windlebird looked at him with moist eyes. "You can imagine how my husband feels about this.
He came forward and slapped Roland on the shoulder. And then the remarkable fact came to light that Bombito spoke English, or a sort of English. "My old chap," he said. "I would have a speech with you." He slapped Roland again on the shoulder. "The others they say, 'Break it with Senor Bleke gently. Maraquita say 'Break it with Senor Bleke gently. So I break it with you gently."
So absorbed was he in his troubles that he was not aware of Mr. Windlebird's approach until that pleasant, portly man's shadow fell on the turf before him. "Not had an accident, I hope, Mr. Bleke?" Roland was too far gone in misery to speculate as to how this genial stranger came to know his name. As a matter of fact, Mrs.
"I daresay you've got a headache or something that made you say a lot of foolish things you didn't mean. Go down to the drawing-room. I expect Mr. Bleke is waiting there to say goodnight to you. I am sure he must be getting quite impatient."
"Yes, Senor Bleke, you do know what I mean. I mean that you will be well advised to abandon the schemes which you are hatching with the malcontents who would do my beloved land an injury." The conversation was growing awkward.
I can't take your money. It's noble and generous of you in the extreme, but I can't accept it. I've still got a little money left, and I've always been used to working for my living, anyway, so so it's all right." "Mr. Bleke, I implore you." Roland was hideously embarrassed. He looked right and left for a way of escape.
I hope, before we part, that I can persuade you to abandon your idea of financing this movement to restore me to the throne. "I don't understand er your majesty." "I will explain. Please treat what I shall say as strictly confidential. You must know, Mr. Bleke, that these attempts to re-establish me as a reigning monarch in Paranoya are, frankly, the curse of an otherwise very pleasant existence.
It was on his advice that you invested your money. He holds himself directly responsible. He is in a terrible state of mind. He is frantic. He has grown so fond of you, Mr. Bleke, that he can hardly face the thought that he has been the innocent instrument of your trouble." Roland felt that it was an admirable comparison. His sensations were precisely those of a leading actor in an earthquake.
She drew a ring from her finger, placed it on the table, and walked to the door. "I am not engaged to Mr. Bleke," she said, as she reached it. Roland never knew quite how he had got away from The Towers. He had confused memories in which the principals of the drawing-room scene figured in various ways, all unpleasant. It was a portion of his life on which he did not care to dwell.
Night after night he sat in his stage-box, goggling at Maraquita and applauding wildly. One night an attendant came to his box. "Excuse me, sir, but are you Mr. Roland Bleke? The Senorita Maraquita wishes to speak to you." He held open the door of the box. The possibility of refusal did not appear to occur to him.
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