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 CHAPTER LII.

THE ENCOUNTER AT THE CAFE DE ALMENDRAS.

"You have settled your business interests in this country satisfactorily?"

"Perfectly so. Much more profitably, indeed, than I expected."

"Then there is nothing further to keep you here except sight-seeing?"

"Nothing—except sight-seeing."

Cyrus Felton, Phillip Van Zandt and Louise Hathaway are seated on the veranda of the little Cafe de Almendras, on the outskirts of Santiago. They have returned this morning from a short jaunt to the interior and are not impressed favorably with rural Cuba. So they gladly return to the contemplation of that view which is ever welcome, no matter where one may roam—old ocean.

"And you, Miss Hathaway—have you any Cuban ties that you will sever with regret?" inquires Van Zandt.

Miss Hathaway is more thoughtful than the occasion would seem to require. "None," she replies, slowly. "Unless," she adds quickly, "the pleasure of your society for the last month may be regarded as a Cuban tie."

"Thank you," rejoins Van Zandt, with a glance that brings a blush to the face of the Vermont maiden.

"No; I am utterly, uncompromisingly disappointed with Cuba," she says. "And the people! But I have been here but a few days, so I shall not place my opinion upon record."

"And yet your brief impression of Cuba, Miss Hathaway, would not be likely to change much for the better if you were to spend a dozen years here. The country is uninteresting. The Spaniard cannot be changed. The Cuban—that is, the Cuban we see about us—does not deserve freedom. He lets the blacks and his brothers of the chaparral do all the fighting, and hardly dares, except in private, to express his cordial hatred of his ancient