Long Odds by Harold Bindloss — Read

A little breeze blew in between the slender pillars delightfully fresh and cool, and Dom Clemente Figuera, who had taken off his heavy kepi, lay in a cane chair with a smile in his half-closed eyes. The ten o'clock breakfast had just been cleared away, but two cups of bitter black coffee still stood upon the table beside a bundle of cigars and a flask of light red wine. He was, as he now and then laughingly admitted, usually in an excellent humor after breakfast, and one could have fancied just then that he had not a care in the world. There were, however, men who said that in the case of Dom Clemente tranquillity was not always a favorable sign.

Opposite him sat the trader Herrero, who was not quite so much at ease as he desired to be. His manners were usually characterized by a certain truculence, which as a rule served him well in the bush, but he had sense enough to realize that it was not likely to have much effect upon his companion. There was something about the little smiling gentleman in the immaculate white uniform on the other side of the table which would have made it difficult for one to adopt an aggressive attitude towards him, even if he had not been one who held authority. Herrero had therefore laid a somewhat unusual restraint upon himself while he expressed his views, and now sat watching his companion anxiously. Dom Clemente lighted a cigar before he answered him.