y becoming experts, having
studied the language in school, and also on the long voyage out. There
are also a group of resident Englishmen and a pilgrim from Norway,
but at several tables are Americans who know no Spanish and are mad
at the Spaniards on that provocation among other things.

There is, however, a connecting link and last resort in the person
of a young man--a cross between a Jap and Filipino. He is slender
and pale, but not tall. His hair is roached, so that it stands up
in confusion, and he is wearied all the time about the deplorable
"help."' It is believed he knows better than is done--always a source
of unhappiness. His name is Francisco; his reputation is widespread. He
is the man who "speaks English"--and is the only one--and it is not
doubted that he knows at least a hundred words of our noble tongue. He
says, "What do you want?" "Good morning, gentlemen"; "What can I do for
you?" "Do you want dinner?" "No, there is no ice till 6 o'clock." He
puts the Americans in mind of better days. Behind this linguist is
a little woman, whose age might be twenty or sixty, for her face is
so unutterably sad and immovable in expression that there is not a
line in it that tells you anything but that there is to this little
woman a bitterly sad, mean, beastly world. She must be grieving over
mankind. It is her duty to see that no spoon is lost, and not an orange
or banana wasted, and her mournful eyes are fixed with the intensity
of despair upon the incompetent waiters, who, when hard pressed by wild
shouts from American officers, frantic for lack of proper nourishment,
fall into a panic and dance and squeal at each other; and then the
woman of fixed sorrow, her left shoulder thin and copper-colored,
thrust from her low-necked dress, her right shoulder protected, is in
the midst of the pack, with a gliding bound and the ferocity of a cat,
the sadness of her face taking on a tinge of long-suffering rage. She
whirls the fools here and there as they are wanted. Having disentangled
the snarl, she returns to the door from which her eyes command both
the pantry and the dining-room to renew her solemn round of mournful
vigilance. The Americans are outside her jurisdiction. She has no more
idea what they are than Christopher Columbus, when he was discovering
America, knew where he was going. When Francisco does not know what
the language (English) hurled at him means he has a far-away look,
and may be listening to the angel