It was a real problem! To spend a sum that enormous was patently impossible; he had no training for extravagance on that scale. And instinctively, he recognized that giving any part of the money to the girl at the botequim — where he fully intended to stop on the return — would be a tactical error, for it would create a situation impossible to duplicate. Even as he pondered his problem, the man sitting at the telegraph key completed the last word and rose to his feet, flexing his fingers from the unaccustomed exercise. One telegram at a time was rare enough in Pôrto Itapurá; two at a time were unheard of.
“Finished, my friend,” he said with a smile. Carlos considered him blankly, his mind lost in contemplation of his dilemma. The man cleared his throat. “Your messages have been sent, Senhor,” he repeated gently.
Carlos suddenly made his decision. He shoved over the money.
“Send them again,” he commanded.
“What!”
“I said, send them again!”
It was so obviously the right thing to do that Carlos Ribeiro wondered why it had taken him so long to see it. He waited patiently as the puzzled telegrapher removed the proper charge; he pocketed the remainder — a more reasonable quantity — and walked from the small building with a slight swagger. Behind him the silence was broken as the telegraph key began to stutter, establishing a record for Pôrto Itapurá that was to stand for some time.
To be truthful with himself, Carlos had known all along that many men would have been worthy of Anton’s trust and would have sent the telegrams. But, he asked himself, how many would have been honorable enough to send them twice? He shook his head decisively. No one, he thought, except Carlos Renaldo Ribeiro...