be interfering with the liberty of the subject, my good
Jenkinson--which God forbid!" said Don Jose calmly. "Moreover, it is
the custom of the Americanos--a habit of my friend Roberto--a necessity
of his existence--and so recognized of his friends. Patience and
courage, Senor Jenkinson. Stay--ah, I comprehend! you have--of a
possibility--a wife?"

"No, I'm a widower," said Jenkinson sharply.

"Then I congratulate you. My friend Roberto would have kissed her. It
is also of his habit. Truly you have escaped much. I embrace you,
Jenkinson."

He threw his arms gravely around Jenkinson, in whose astounded face at
last an expression of dry humor faintly dawned. After a moment's
survey of Don Jose's impenetrable gravity, he coolly gathered up the
gold coins, and saying that he would assess the damages and return the
difference, he left the room as abruptly as he had entered it.

But Don Jose was not destined to remain long in peaceful study of the
American Constitution. He had barely taken up the book again and
renewed his serious contemplation of its excellences when there was
another knock at his door. This time, in obedience to his invitation
to enter, the new visitor approached with more deliberation and a
certain formality.

He was a young man of apparently the same age as Don Jose, handsomely
dressed, and of a quiet self-possession and gravity almost equal to his
host's.

"I believe I am addressing Don Jose Sepulvida," he said with a familiar
yet courteous inclination of his handsome head. Don Jose, who had
risen in marked contrast to his reception of his former guest,
answered,--

"You are truly making to him a great honor."

"Well, you're going it blind as far as I'M concerned certainly," said
the young man, with a slight smile, "for you don't know ME."

"Pardon, my friend," said Don Jose gently, "in this book, this great
Testament of your glorious nation, I have read that you are all equal,
one not above, one not below the other. I salute in you the Nation!
It is enough!"

"Thank you," returned the stranger, with a face that, saving the
faintest twinkle in the corner of his dark eyes, was as immovable as
his host's, "but for the purposes of my business I had better say I am
Jack Hamlin, a gambler, and am just now dealing faro in the Florida
saloon round the corner."

He paused carelessly, as if to allow Don Jose the protest he did not
make, and then continued,--

"The matter is this. One o