The presidential snapshot

Between the Camera Chap and Gale there existed a feud of long standing, the intensity of which was based upon more than mere loyalty for their respective newspapers. Hawley knew the News man, from past experience, as the trickiest, most unscrupulous member of the journalistic profession he had ever matched wits with on an assignment, and for that reason disliked him exceedingly. But dislike would hardly be a strong enough word to characterize the sentiments of Gale toward Hawley. Jealousy and resentment for many past defeats at the latter’s hands had engendered in him a feeling of downright hatred for the clever, good-humored chap who generally managed to turn the tables on him in spite of his underhand methods.

There was nothing of this feeling evident in Gale’s manner now, however, as he greeted the Camera Chap. On the contrary, if he had loved the latter like a twin brother his demeanor could scarcely have been more cordial. “Well, this is, indeed, a big surprise, Hawley, old scout,” he exclaimed exuberantly. “I didn’t have any idea that you were in Baracoa.”

“I scarcely expected to find you here, either,” the Camera Chap replied quietly. “Might I inquire what you are doing so far away from Park Row?”

“I’m not down here on business,” the other replied. “I was so busy covering the street cleaners’ strike last summer that I didn’t have time to take a vacation then, so the boss is giving me a few weeks now. I thought I might as well run down here and visit my old friend, the American minister.”

“Oh, an old friend,” Hawley repeated, glancing at the girl.

“Yes, I have had the honor of knowing Minister Throgmorton for a long time, and when he was appointed to this position he was kind enough to extend me a standing invitation to come to Baracoa and be his guest. As you say, it’s a long way from Park Row, but I am having a great time.”

Hawley looked at him searchingly, but said nothing.

“And now, how about yourself, old top?” the News man demanded. “Tit for tat, you know. What particular bunch of trouble has brought you down this way? Haven’t come to lead a revolution, have you?”

“Scarcely,” the Camera Chap replied, smiling. “It is a curious coincidence, but I, too, happen to be here on a leave of absence. I haven’t had a vacation in three years, so I figured that the paper owed me a holiday.”

“What made you select Baracoa?” Gale demanded suspiciously.

“Why not?” the Camera Chap rejoined. “I’ve always had a hankering to visit South America. Some people prefer going to Europe, but I’ve always believed in seeing our own hemisphere first.”

Gale was not satisfied by this answer. “Brought your camera along with you?” he inquired abruptly.

“Of course. I wouldn’t travel without it—even on a pleasure trip. I hope to land some good snapshots before I go back.”

“Snapshots of what?” Gale demanded quickly.

Hawley shrugged his shoulders in a manner which would have done credit to a native of Baracoa. “That is hard to say, at present,” he answered. “I have no doubt that in a land as interesting as this, there must be many attractive things to photograph.”

As he spoke he looked into the eyes of Gale’s fair companion, and saw lurking in their blue depths an appreciative twinkle which warned him that she knew his secret. Evidently her friend, the señora, had taken the girl into her confidence. The situation disturbed him greatly. He wondered uneasily whether the American minister’s daughter could be relied upon to keep what she knew to herself, or whether she would pass it along to Gale, with whom, evidently, she was on friendly terms.

“Miss Throgmorton,” said Gale suddenly, “may I present my friend, Mr. Hawley? You remember my telling you the other day about Hawley, of the Sentinel?”

“Oh, yes,” the girl replied mischievously, as she extended her hand; “I recall your telling me how often you scooped him on pictures. I really felt quite sorry for you, Mr. Hawley, when I heard Mr. Gale’s stories. Newspaper work must be a cruel game.”

The Camera Chap smiled, and Gale looked somewhat sheepish. In boasting of his exploits to his host’s daughter, he had departed from the truth to an extent which covered him with glory, but did not do justice to the Sentinel man.

“Suppose we change the subject,” Gale said quickly. “Possibly Mr. Hawley might find it painful, you know. By the way, Frank, old man, I wonder if you’d mind taking care of Miss Throgmorton for a few minutes, while I go and make some inquiries about the attempt that was just made on President Portiforo’s life? Even though I’m on my vacation, I can’t afford to pass up a story like that.”

“The attempt on Portiforo’s life?” the Camera Chap repeated, in astonishment. “What do you mean?”

“Didn’t you see that fellow try to throw a bomb at him just now?”

“Why, Mr. Gale!” Miss Throgmorton cried indignantly. “You know very well he didn’t do anything of the sort. The man was intoxicated, and he didn’t do anything except call Portiforo names. Surely you are not going to send your paper such an exaggerated account!”

“I am positive I saw something in his hand that looked like a bomb. He was just about to throw it when they grabbed him,” insisted Gale, according to whose code of journalistic ethics it was always justifiable to “color” a story, provided one could get away with it. “So long, folks. I’ll be back in a little while,” he said, as he walked off.

The Camera Chap was grateful for this unlooked-for opportunity to speak to the girl alone. “I must have a talk with you, Miss Throgmorton,” he began, in an eager whisper; “but not here. There is too much danger of our being overheard. I hope you will not consider me presumptuous, but it is really very important. Isn’t there some place near here where we can talk in safety?”

The girl nodded. “The Botanical Gardens are only a short distance from here,” she suggested. “They will be deserted now; every one is on the street watching the parade. I, too, am anxious to have a talk with you; in fact, even if we hadn’t met now, I was going to make it a point to communicate with you and arrange a meeting. I have a message for you—from a mutual friend.”

Hawley smiled. He thought he could come pretty near guessing the identity of the sender of the message. “Don’t say any more about it now,” he warned her hastily. “Wait until we reach the gardens.”

They forced their way to the rear of the throng on the sidewalk, and a few minutes later were strolling along the graceful walks of the Botanical Gardens, which, although usually crowded at that hour of the day, were now, as the girl had surmised, as desolate as a desert island.

“Did I understand Gale to say that he is stopping at your house?” Hawley began abruptly.

“Yes; he is spending his vacation with us. My father has taken a great fancy to him. When dad was a deputy police commissioner in New York, Mr. Gale wrote some very flattering things about him in the News, and he has never forgotten it. Dad just hates to have the newspapers publish nice things about him,” she added, with a laugh.

“I don’t care very much for Mr. Gale myself,” she added frankly. “In fact, I do not like him at all. When he first came to us I did. I was so favorably impressed with him that I was on the point of taking him into my confidence about—poor President Felix.”

Although her words greatly interested the Camera Chap, his face was as a mask. “President Felix?” he repeated, with an interrogative inflection.

“Yes. You see, I felt that I must share my secret with some one, and I believed at first that Mr. Gale would be just the person to help get that poor man out of El Torro,” the girl said. “But after I had studied him for a few days,” she added, “I decided that he wouldn’t do at all; he isn’t trustworthy. I feel sure that if he got even a hint of the story he would publish it in his paper, regardless of the consequences.”

Hawley felt pretty sure of that, too. Inwardly he rejoiced that Miss Throgmorton had changed her mind about taking the perfidious Gale into her confidence. Aloud he said, after a cautious glance all around him: “So you suspect that President Felix is confined in El Torro?”

Her reply almost took his breath away. “Suspect!” she exclaimed tensely. “I know it. I have seen him!”