Rubber-tired carriages roll constantly by along Uncle Sam's
macadam, amid the jingling of their musical bells. Every one takes
a carriage in Panama. Any man can afford ten cents even if he has
no expense account; besides he runs no risk of being overcharged,
which is a greater advantage than the cost. All this may be
different when Panama's electric line, all the way from Balboa
docks to Las Sabanas, is opened--but that's another year.
Meanwhile the lolling in carriages comes to be quite second
nature.
But like any tropical Spanish town Panama seethes only by night,
especially Saturday and Sunday nights when the paternal Zone
government allows its children to spend the evening in town. Then
frequent trains, unknown during the week, begin with the setting
of the sun to disgorge Americans of all grades and sizes through
the clicking turnstiles into the arms of gesticulating hackmen,
some to squirm away afoot between the carriages, all to be
swallowed up within ten minutes in the great sea of "colored"
people. So that, large as may be each train-load, white American
faces are so rare on Panama streets that one involuntarily glances
at each that passes in the throng.
It is the "gum-shoe's" duty to know and be unknown in as many
places as possible. Wherefore on such nights, whatever his choice,
he drifts early down by the "Normandie" and on into the "Pana-
zone" to see who is out, and why.
Pages:
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195