And I know it, because he beefed to me about
it himself, because it wasn't big enough."
We were passing the limestone island at the entrance to the harbor,
where, in the prison fortress, with its muzzle-loading guns pointing
drunkenly at the sky, are buried the political prisoners of Valencia.
"Now, there," said Schnitzel, pointing, "that shows you what the Nitrate
Trust can do. Judge Rojas is in there. He gave the first decision in
favor of the Walker-Keefe people, and for making that decision William
T. Scott, the Nitrate manager, made Alvarez put Rojas in there. He's
seventy years old, and he's been there five years. The cell they keep
him in is below the sea-level, and the salt-water leaks through the
wall. I've seen it. That's what William T. Scott did, an' up in New York
people think 'Billy' Scott is a fine man. I seen him at the Horse Show
sitting in a box, bowing to everybody, with his wife sitting beside him,
all hung out with pearls. An' that was only a month after I'd seen Rojas
in that sewer where Scott put him."
"Schnitzel," I laughed, "you certainly are a magnificent liar."
Schnitzel showed no resentment.
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