thought of the long months of enforced idleness before him until the revolution had been settled in one way or another.
As he came into the Calle de Lima, Dick pulled out his watch. He found that he still had a few minutes to spare. Much as she loved him, Maria-Teresa did not like being interrupted at her work, so he turned into the Circulo de los Amigos de las Artes for a drink. This establishment, though baptized a club, was in reality a huge café and reading-room. The ground floor was packed with people discussing the latest events. Cuzco was in every mouth, and it was noticeable that Veintemilla's warmest partizans now had a good word to say for Garcia.
A stampede of shock-headed newsboys, shouting the latest edition of an official paper, tore past the café, scattering still wet sheets and collecting coppers. One of the customers climbed onto a table and read out a proclamation by the President, urging calm and giving a categorical denial to the report of the capture of Cuzco. General Garcia and his troops, the President announced, were bottled up in Arequipa, all the sierra defiles were in the hands of Government troops, and the traitors would be hurled into the sea or chased into the great sand deserts. The proclamation concluded with a reference to Indian troubles in the suburbs, attributing them
