ght in the dismal
upper story; sometimes a minor native official on some trifling
government quest would have his pomp and majesty awed by Madama's
sepulchral hospitality. But Madama sat behind her bar content, not
desiring to quarrel with Fate. If anyone required meat, drink or
lodging at the Hotel de los Estranjeros they had but to come, and be
served. _Esta bueno._ If they came not, why, then, they came not.
_Esta bueno._

As the exceptional yachtsman was making his way down the precarious
sidewalk of the Street of the Holy Sepulchre, the solitary permanent
guest of that decaying hotel sat at its door, enjoying the breeze
from the sea.

Dr. Gregg, the quarantine physician, was a man of fifty or sixty,
with a florid face and the longest beard between Topeka and Terra
del Fuego. He held his position by virtue of an appointment by the
Board of Health of a seaport city in one of the Southern states.
That city feared the ancient enemy of every Southern seaport--the
yellow fever--and it was the duty of Dr. Gregg to examine crew and
passengers of every vessel leaving Coralio for preliminary symptoms.
The duties were light, and the salary, for one who lived in Coralio,
ample. Surplus time there was in plenty; and the good doctor added
to his gains by a large private practice among the residents of the
coast. The fact that he did not know ten words of Spanish was no
obstacle; a pulse could be felt and a fee collected without one being
a linguist. Add to the description the facts that the doctor had
a story to tell concerning the operation of trepanning which no
listener had ever allowed him to conclude, and that he believed
in brandy as a prophylactic; and the special points of interest
possessed by Dr. Gregg will have become exhausted.

The doctor had dragged a chair to the sidewalk. He was coatless, and
he leaned back against the wall and smoked, while he stroked his
beard. Surprise came into his pale blue eyes when he caught sight of
Smith in his unusual and prismatic clothes.

"You're Dr. Gregg--is that right?" said Smith, feeling the dog's head
pin in his tie. "The constable--I mean the consul, told me you hung
out at this caravansary. My name's Smith; and I came in a yacht.
Taking a cruise around, looking at the monkeys and pineapple-trees.
Come inside and have a drink, Doc. This cafe looks on the blink, but
I guess it can set out something wet."

"I will join you, sir, in just a taste of brandy," said Dr. Gregg,