This is going to be a big
night, my boy--a very big night." Kirk strolled out into the hall
and made his way to the lobby.
Already the orchestra was tuning up, the wide porches were filling
with well-dressed people, while a stream of coaches at the door
was delivering the arrivals on the special from Colon. It was a
very animated crowd, sprinkled plentifully with Spanish people--
something quite unusual, by-the-way--while the presence of many
uniforms gave the affair almost the brilliance of a military
function. There were marine officers from Bas Obispo, straight,
trim, brown of cheek; naval officers from the cruisers in the
roadstead, clad in their white trousers and bell-boy jackets; army
officers detailed from Washington on special duty; others from the
various parts of the work itself.
Kirk wandered about through the confusion, nodding to his friends,
chatting here and there, his eyes fixed anxiously upon the door.
Clifford approached and fell into conversation with him.
"Great doings, eh? I came up from the Central just to see what
these affairs are like. Did you see to-night's paper?"
"No."
"Garavel is going to run for President. This is a kind of
political coming-out party."
"So I believe."
"It looked like a fight between him and General Alfarez, but
they've patched it up, and the General is going to withdraw.
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