It is politics
--big politics. The Spiggoties have an election next year, and it
is necessary to get our wires well laid before it comes off.
General Alfarez will probably be the next president."
"Alfarez! Not Ramon?"
"His father. You know we Americans occupy a peculiar position
here, set down as we are in the midst of an alien people who hate
us. Oh, they hate us, all right--all except a few of the better
class."
"Why?"
"There are a good many reasons. For one thing, there's a sort of
racial antipathy. You don't like them, do you? Well, they don't
like you, either, and the same feeling exists from Mexico to
Patagonia, although it is strongest in these regions. It is partly
the resentment of an inferior race, I suppose. Then, too, when we
stole Panama we made the Colombians sore, and all Central America
besides, for they realized that once we Yankees got a foothold
here we'd hang on and not only dominate this country but all the
neighboring republics as well. That's just what we're beginning to
do; that's why the Cortlandts are here. The stage is clearing for
a big political drama, Mr. Anthony, which may mean the end of
Latin Central America."
"I had gathered something of the sort--but I had no idea there was
so much in it.
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