BETWEEN THE BRAZILIAN DEVIL AND THE DEEP ATLANTIC There was an awkward pause.

Coke, rascal though he was, and pot-bellied withal, was no Falstaff.

Rather did he suggest the present-day atavism of some robber baron of the Middle Ages, whose hectoring speech bubbled forth from a stout heart.

But the ragged ex-President heeded him not.

After a moment of placid scrutiny of his enraged countenance by those bright, watchful eyes, Coke might have been non-existent so far as recognition of his outburst was apparent during the sonorous discussion that ensued between Dom Corria Antonio De Sylva and the Senor Capitano Salvador De San Benavides.
The latter, it is true, betrayed excitement.