political schemes with which he had heretofore so profitably to himself occupied his time.

Then, tiring of the debauchery in which he spent his days and nights at Macuto and La Victoria, the health resorts at which he was supposed to be resting and recruiting his strength, Castro began to meddle in the affairs of the government. This was much to the displeasure of Gomez, who had, after a few tastes of flattery, begun to take himself seriously. Then Ministers of State began to travel down to Castro's retreat to receive their orders as formerly, and the Administration was in sad confusion.

The break, which had long been inevitable, came over a little matter of pin-money for Doña Sorla, the wife, and, as was then thought soon to be, the widow of the Dictator. A syndicate of clever scamps got hold of this simple, but by no means unselfish, woman and persuaded her that upon the death of her husband his whole fortune would be confiscated to pay his debts to the State and pension at least some of the widows and orphans of his tyranny, "and then, Doña Sorla, what of you?"

The good woman had, like all Indians, become excessively fond of what she regarded as finery, and the thought of returning to her Andean wigwam to live on black beans for the rest of her life was anything but pleasant. When, then, the spokesman of the syndicate suggested a slight change in the tobacco monopoly laws which would net Mme. Castro a neat million or two in three months, her warmest approval was immediately secured for the scheme. But Gomez unexpectedly, and to the amazement of the family conclave, demurred.

He was a grafter himself and a frank and open

one, but at this juncture, most inopportunely for Mme. Castro's pocket, he came out strongly for the people.

"There was as much graft going as the business would stand," he rudely asserted, and vowed the tobacco money should go into the treasury to furnish pensions for the Andean soldiers, who, it was true, were well fed and extravagantly paid, but whose future was far from being assured.

Mme. Castro went to visit her lord in his health resort and told the bored and invalided debauché stories about Gomez, all kinds of stories, only not the story of what had really happened. Castro's health immediately began to improve at a surprising rate. Hardly a day passed but he despatched couriers to the capital, and the Ministers were plied with questions as if Castro was still their chief, to whom they were responsible.

Then the press campaign began. Editor after editor travelled down to Castro's retreat, and all were struck with the wonderful improvement in the great statesman's appearance. He could outride any man in his troop of guards, they said, and came home after the wildest scamper across the pampas, neighing like a colt.

Gomez knew what was coming, but it probably came sooner than he expected. One night there was an inundation of straw-sandalled savages through the capital, who shouted, "Long live Don Cipriano Castro, the restorer of peace! We want more years of Castro!"

The next morning Castro appeared before the Yellow House with a body of troops, went in, and the Acting President went out, sadly smiling as ever.

For a time the want of a cordial understanding between the President and his former substitute was

apparent, but soon Castro made overtures and apparently Gomez accepted them. But only apparently, I believe, and my opinion is held by those I always have found best informed as to the political undercurrents in Caracas.

Gomez is not as much of an Indian as Castro, but he has enough Indian blood to make him loath to forgive the man who made him ridiculous.

When, in 1908, Castro started for Europe to seek a surgeon abler than those to be found in Venezuela, and to fish for alliances in the troubled waters of European diplomacy, he again turned the reins of power over to Gomez. Not without deep misgivings, I venture to say, but because, Castro out of the way, Gomez was the only man the Indian soldiery would obey. The rough highlanders, the short-swordsmen who charged and cut down General Matos's lowlanders, though they were armed with the most modern Mauser rifles, were the indispensable factors in the edifice of tyranny Castro erected in Venezuela.