Page:The Overland Monthly, volume 1, issue 1.djvu/73

 lishment of a monarchical government as a neighbor, whose acts will not tend to the benefit of the republic.

If there should still be no treaty, the efforts to maintain the commercial life of the kingdom may take up the suggestion of annexation to our government. They have need of all the benefits which the

treaty could confer to sustain themselves. A union with these states will not only confer all those benefits, but will insure a tendency to a complete civilization of the native people. That is the only treaty concerning which, as merchants, diplomatists and civilizers, we should hold any argument.

DOS REALES.

HE had to have a name, of course. So one day when he met us on the Mole and I had given him a quarter of a dollar by mistake for a copper "dump" or two-cent piece, and he had hurried off, throwing glances of trepidation behind him every now and then as he ran up the wharf lest I should overhaul him and demand return of change, I called him "Dos Reales." And always after that he seemed to know the name.

But that was a long while ago. Years before the Spanish fleet knocked the

lower town to pieces. Dos Reales must be getting on in years by this time, even if he still lives.

He was a large dog, of no particular breed, and of the color of a ripe horsechestnut. A dog of no vices. He scorned to run in debt, always paying cash down for what h® ate, and lodging no one knew where. I have'nt the slightest doubt, however, that he paid for bed as well as board. A very Beau Hickmann of a dog. Courteous, affable, self-possessed, never seeking an acquaintance but always glad to meet any friend of a friend of his, always opening his mouth for money when any one whom he knew came near him. Bones and garbage he left to the plebeians of his race. I have often seen him turn up his nose with quiet contempt at ordinary pups squabbling for refuse edibles, as he, having

dined well, lay at full length in the sun with an air of lazily smoking his afterdinner cigar.

No one knew where he came from. Dr. Reid, the wholesale druggist, whose shop is in Cochrane or Commercial street, I forget which—at any rate it isn't far from the Custom House which stands or did stand, before Admiral Nunez shelled it, right across the way from the gate of the Mole—and you turned to the right from the Custom House to go there—Dr. Reid, who knew more about the town than any other American in it, told me that he believed Dos Reales was left on shore by some merchantship's boat when quite a little puppy, and that when he found himself thrown upon his own resources, as you may Say, he organized and adopted his own method of support in life.

It seemed to me that the dog deserved a good deal of credit for this. In fact, every one gave it to him.

He would stand on the upper step of the long flight of landing stairs, watching our boat as it came from the ship. He knew the flag perfectly well, and would bark a hoarse and gruff "good morning!" as the officer in charge called out "way enough! trail oars!" and the coxswain steered her in towards the stairs, and the men let their oars swim loose in the beckets that hung alongside, and threw over the little fenders of