pretty and very nice. I used to draw pictures of her and
struggle bravely with the Spanish language. And she was kind and patient
with my efforts to learn. Her name was Victoria and she kept a little
shop where she and her ancestors for generations before had sold silk
jusi and pina cloth. I visited her often there and sometimes went out to
her home, a beautiful big Spanish house in Calle Zarigoza.

I determined to find her and went over to her shop. Fatal mistake! Ten
years and the tropics work many changes in the soft-eyed daughters south
of the fifteenth degree of latitude.

I once read a story by Pierre Loti, a sad and haunting story of how he
sought, after years of absence, to find an old-time sweetheart in
Stamboul. He didn't find her and he should be grateful for his failure.

[Drawing: _Ten Years After_]

I found Victoria. She recognized me at once, although I hardly knew in
her the slender, pretty Victoria of old. Her eyes were soft and nice,
but smallpox had pitted her nose and cheeks and the deadly incubus of
flesh had upholstered her in many soft and cushiony folds. I asked her
if she had married and she said she never had, which information I
matched with promptness. She spoke English quite well and seemed
prosperous and--yes, motherly. There's no other word for it, although
she is now hardly thirty.

It was a terrible disappointment, a collapse of delightful memories, and
as I walked away from her little silk shop with a vague promise to call
again I knew perfectly well that I should never go back.

I left Manila after less than two days and rolled and plunged and
tumbled back across the China Sea to Hongkong. I bought a little chow
dog puppy from the Chinese steward on board, but I suppose it will grow
up and get fat one of these days, too. Allison Armour and his nephew,
Norman Armour, were with us and in Hongkong the latter bought two chow
dog puppies to send home. They looked exactly like teddy bears. Later he
resolved that the trouble and risk were too great, inasmuch as he was
not returning by the Pacific, so he gave them to me. And with three chow
dogs and my friend Stephenson I embarked on the _Asia_ for the
twenty-eight day trip to Frisco.

The ship was jammed and we found a little fat man consigned to the sofa
in our state-room. He was pleasant looking, but we little realized what
hours of nocturnal horror were in store for us. He was the champion
snorist of the five continents. He could s