Page 137 - nostromo-a-tale-of-the-seaboard

dows. In the whole sunlit range of empty balconies along
the street only one white figure would be visible high up
above the clear pavement—the wife of the Senor Adminis-
trador—leaning over to see the escort go by to the harbour,
a mass of heavy, fair hair twisted up negligently on her little
head, and a lot of lace about the neck of her muslin wrapper.
With a smile to her husband’s single, quick, upward glance,
she would watch the whole thing stream past below her feet
with an orderly uproar, till she answered by a friendly sign
the salute of the galloping Don Pepe, the stiff, deferential in-
clination with a sweep of the hat below the knee.
The string of padlocked carts lengthened, the size of the
escort grew bigger as the years went on. Every three months
an increasing stream of treasure swept through the streets
of Sulaco on its way to the strong room in the O.S.N. Co.’s
building by the harbour, there to await shipment for the
North. Increasing in volume, and of immense value also;
for, as Charles Gould told his wife once with some exulta-
tion, there had never been seen anything in the world to
approach the vein of the Gould Concession. For them both,
each passing of the escort under the balconies of the Casa
Gould was like another victory gained in the conquest of
peace for Sulaco.
No doubt the initial action of Charles Gould had been
helped at the beginning by a period of comparative peace
which occurred just about that time; and also by the gen-
eral softening of manners as compared with the epoch of
civil wars whence had emerged the iron tyranny of Guz-
man Bento of fearful memory. In the contests that broke out

1 Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard