There may be an ancient billiard table in one corner with its
accompanying cue rack, and there is almost sure to be a little hole
in the ceiling through which the proprietor's wife, who resides above,
can peep down and watch the card games. It is a genuine family resort,
too, for between four and seven all the town is likely to drop in,
the women chaffering or gossiping while their lords enjoy a glass of
beer and a game of dominoes.

The proprietor's wife must have had a fine look at me as I sat mopping
my sunburned face. At last the American teacher came, a pleasant-faced
young man who spoke Spanish excellently and was quite an adept at
the vernacular. In due time I was ushered into a room in a house
on the far side of the river, the window of which commanded a fine
view of the bridge, the plaza, the gray old church, and the jail,
with the excitements of guard mount and retreat thrown in.

The room had a floor of boards, each one of which was at least two feet
wide. They were rudely nailed and were separated by dirt-filled cracks,
but were polished into a dark richness by long rubbing with petroleum
and banana leaves. The furnishings consisted of a wardrobe, a table,
a washstand, several chairs, and a Filipino four-poster bed with a
mattress of plaited rattan such as we find in cane-seated chairs. A
snow-white valence draped the bed. The mattress was covered with a
petate, or native mat, and there were two pillows--a big, fat, bolstery
one, and another, called _abrazador_, which is used for a leg-rest.

I bathed in the provincial bathroom. Manila, being the metropolis of
the Philippines, has running water and the regular tub and shower baths
in tiled rooms. The Capiz bathroom had a floor of bamboo strips which
kept me constantly in agony lest somebody should stray beneath, and
which even made me feel apologetic toward the pigs rooting below. There
was a _tinaja_, or earthenware jar, holding about twenty gallons of
water, and a dipper made of a polished cocoanut shell. I poured water
over my body till the contents of the tinaja were exhausted and I
was cool. Already I was beginning to look upon a bath from the native
standpoint as a means of coolness, and incidentally of cleanliness.

When I got back to my room, my hostess and her sister came and sat
with me while I unpacked my trunk and applied cold cream to my sunburnt
skin. They were afraid that I should be _triste_ because I was so far
from home and alone, and th