there. Our first _muchacho_, Valentine, surprised us by
existing on the ten-cent dinners of the Chinese chophouse on the
corner. But he assured us that it was a good place; that the greasy
Chinaman, who fried the sausages and boiled the rice back in the tiny
den, was a great favorite. At our own restaurant, two Negro women
made the best corn-fritters we had ever tasted; a green parrot and
a monkey squawked and chattered on the balustrade; a Filipino boy
played marches on a cracked piano-forte.

And so we lived behind the heavily-barred windows, watching the
shifting throng--the staggering coolies, girls with trays of oranges
upon their heads, and men in curiously fashioned hats--driving around
the city in the afternoon (for Valentine was at his best in getting
_carromatas_ under false pretenses) till the little family broke
up. The first to go returned after a day or two, almost in tears
with the alarming information that the mayor of the town that he
had been assigned to was a naked savage; that what he supposed was
pepper on the fried eggs he had had for breakfast, had turned out
to be black ants--and wouldn't we please pay his _carromata_ fare,
because he was completely out of funds?

The carabao carts gradually removed our baggage. Valentine was faithful
to the last. Most of us met each other later, and exchanged notes. One
had escaped the target practice of ladrones; one had been lost among
the mountains of Benguet; another had been carried to Manila on a
coasting steamer, reaching the Civil hospital in time to fight against
the fevers that had wasted him; and poor Fitz died of cholera in one
of the most lonely villages among the Negros hills.

"Won't those infernal bells stop ringing for a while and let a
fellow go to sleep?" said Howard as he got out of bed. "Look at those
creatures, will you?" pointing to the fat mosquitoes at the top of the
mosquito-bar. "The vampires! How do you suppose they got in, anyway?"

"It beats me," said the Duke. "It isn't the mosquitoes or the bells:
that ball of fire that's shining through the window makes a perfect
oven of the room."

The merciless sun had risen over the low roofs of the walled city,
and the heat was radiating from the white walls and the scorching
streets. The Duke was sitting on the edge of the low army cot in his
pajamas and his bedroom slippers, smoking a native cigarette.

"It must be about ten o'clock," said Howard. "I wonder if the Chinaman
left any b