his nickname of
'Bimba,' is more loquacious than the rest, not excepting the garrulous
Tunicu.

Bimba is a popular character in Cuba, and in some respects represents a
type of the Creole 'pollo,' or man-about-town. He is short of stature,
lean and bony. He has a long thin face, with a very sun-burnt
complexion, a prominent proboscis, and his hair, eyes and eyebrows are
remarkably black and lustrous. The pollo's weakness is over-confidence
in himself and in the ways of the world. To him everything appears
bright and sunny. Nothing in his estimation seems impossible of
realisation. If you are in a difficulty, Bimba is the man to help you
through, or at least to _offer_ to do so! Bimba takes especial care to
let everybody know that he is a 'travelled man' and a linguist; which
literally translated means, that he has spent a few weeks in Havana and
a few months in New York; in which places he has acquired a smattering
of two or three different languages.

Learning that I am an Englishman, Bimba improves the occasion to air all
the Anglo-Saxon in his vocabulary for the edification of his friends,
who marvel much at Bimba's fluency in a foreign tongue. But whether it
is that my residence among Spanish-speaking people has demoralised my
native lingo, or whether it is that Bimba's English has grown rusty--it
is evident that at least three-fourths of his rapidly spoken words are
as incomprehensible to me as they are to the rest of our party.

Bimba's knowledge is not however, confined to languages and to mundane
matters. As a 'man of business' no one can surpass him; though it is
never clear to anybody what kind of occupation he follows. He is,
besides, conversant with most of the arts and sciences. As for
painting--well; he says that he has 'dabbled' in the art for years; and
though he confesses he has not practised it of late, he knows well
enough what materials are used for the construction of a picture. In
proof of this knowledge, he offers to introduce me to a number of
highly 'picturesque' models, and mentions a locality which, he declares,
abounds with subjects worthy of an artist's attention. This locality is
called La Calle del Gallo, and is a street which, I am afterwards told,
is inhabited by certain coloured ladies of doubtful repute.

Being the hour of departure for the Philharmonic ball, the conversation
ceases and the important operation of paying for what has been consumed
must be undertaken. When a party of