Page 361 - nostromo-a-tale-of-the-seaboard

of our high officials, is a stranger, too—an Isleno. He might
have been a Cargador on the O. S. N. wharf had he not (the
posadero of Rincon is ready to swear it) murdered a pedlar
in the woods and stolen his pack to begin life on. And do
you think that Gamacho, then, would have ever become a
hero with the democracy of this place, like our Capataz? Of
course not. He isn’t half the man. No; decidedly, I think that
Nostromo is a fool.’
The doctor’s talk was distasteful to the builder of railways.
‘It is impossible to argue that point,’ he said, philosophically.
‘Each man has his gifts. You should have heard Gamacho
haranguing his friends in the street. He has a howling voice,
and he shouted like mad, lifting his clenched fist right above
his head, and throwing his body half out of the window. At
every pause the rabble below yelled, ‘Down with the Oli-
garchs! Viva la Libertad!’ Fuentes inside looked extremely
miserable. You know, he is the brother of Jorge Fuentes,
who has been Minister of the Interior for six months or
so, some few years back. Of course, he has no conscience;
but he is a man of birth and education—at one time the di-
rector of the Customs of Cayta. That idiot-brute Gamacho
fastened himself upon him with his following of the lowest
rabble. His sickly fear of that ruffian was the most rejoicing
sight imaginable.’
He got up and went to the door to look out towards the
harbour. ‘All quiet,’ he said; ‘I wonder if Sotillo really means
to turn up here?’

0 Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard