Not yet, seņor. In a little while, if the saints are kind."
Muller rested on his paddle, and watched the oily gray stream as it ran past the dugout.
"My own fault," he growled to Warwick. "Ach, yes! There is nothing romantig about orgids! I have heard you say it. But there is heat and evil smells and jaguars and aye-ayes and aboriginals of a golossal stupidity. Nothing romantig! I belief you!"
"You would come," suggested the other young man mildly. "I told you you wouldn't get much stuff for your paper unless we round it; and then it wouldn't interest your public."
"I do not belief there is anything to find."
"O Rosario! Tell the seņor again!"
"There is nothing to tell, seņores. I have seen the flowers, but I have not touched. My father also. The old god looks out across the river and the stones and the gra