reakfast for us."

"Probably. A couple of cold fried eggs, or a clammy dish of oatmeal
and condensed milk. Shall we get up and go somewhere?"

"I can't find any clothes," said Howard; "this place is turning into
a regular chaos, anyway." It was indeed a chaos,--lines of clothes
where the mosquitoes swarmed, papers and books scattered about the
floor, pajamas, duck suits, towels on every chair, and muddy white
shoes strewn around. "Doesn't the _muchacho_ ever clean things up?"

"That's nothing," said the Duke; "wait till the Chinaman runs off
with all your washing. I can lend you a white suit; and, say,--tell
the _muchacho_ to come in and _blanco_ a few shoes."

As there are no apartment-houses in Manila, the young clerk on small
salary will usually live in a furnished room in the walled city. For
the first few months it is a rather dreary life. The cool veranda and
the steamer chair, after the day's work, is a luxury denied the young
Americans within the city walls. The list of amusements that Manila
offers is an unattractive one. There is a baseball game between two
companies of soldiers, or between the Government employees representing
different departments. There is the cock-fight out at Santa Ana,
Sunday mornings and _fiesta_ days; but this is mostly patronized by
natives, and is not especially agreeable to Americans. The Country
club--reached after a long drive out Malate way, past the Malate
fort that bears the marks of Dewey's shells, past the old church
once occupied by soldiers, through the rice-pads where the American
troops first met the Insurrecto firing line--is little more than a
mere gambling-house. It is now visited by those whose former resorts
in the walled city have been broken up by the constabulary.

The races of the Santa Mesa Jockey dub are held on Sunday
afternoons. It is a rather dusty drive out to the track. A number
of noisy "road-houses" along the way, where drinking is going on;
the Paco cemetery, where the bleached bones have been piled around
the cross,--these are the sole diversions that the road affords. The
races are interesting only in the opportunity they offer to observe the
native types. Here you will find the Filipino dandy in his polished
boots, his low-crowned derby hat, and baggy trousers. He makes the
boast that he has not walked fifty meters on Manila's streets in the
past year. This dainty little fellow always travels in a carriage. He
flicks the ashes off his cigare