Now he was right enough in this; the house is detestable;—­but as all houses of entertainment throughout the country are about equally so, it is scarcely fair to complain of one.  I shall not fear to be more inclusive in my statement, and to affirm that in no part of the world does one get so little comfort for so much money as on the Island of Cuba.  To wit:  an early cup of black coffee, oftenest very bad; bread not to be had without an extra sputtering of Spanish, and darkening of the countenance;—­to wit, a breakfast between nine and ten, invariably consisting of fish, rice, beefsteak, fried plantains, salt cod with tomatoes, stewed tripe and onions, indifferent claret, and an after-cup of coffee or green tea;—­to wit, a dinner at three or four, of which the inventory varieth not,—­to wit, a plate of soup, roast beef, tough turkeys and chickens, tolerable ham, nameless stews, cajota, plantains, salad, sweet potatoes; and for dessert, a spoonful each of West India preserve,—­invariably the kind you do not like,—­oranges, bananas, and another cup of coffee;—­to wit, tea of the sort already described;—­to wit, attendance and non-attendance of negro and half-breed waiters, who mostly speak no English, and neither know nor care what you want;—­to wit, a room whose windows, reaching from floor to ceiling, inclose no glass, and are defended from the public by iron rails, and from the outer air, at desire, by clumsy wooden shutters, which are closed only when it rains;—­to wit, a bed with a mosquito-netting;—­to wit, a towel and a pint of water, for all ablutions.  This is the sum of your comforts as to quantity; but as to their quality, experience alone can enlighten you.

Taking pity on my exile at the Cerro, Can Grande and his party invite me to come and spend a day at their hotel, of higher reputation, and situated in the centre of things.  I go;—­the breakfast, to my surprise, is just like Woolcut’s; the dinner idem, but rather harder to get; preserves for tea, and two towels daily, instead of one, seem to constitute the chief advantages of this establishment.  Domestic linens, too, are fairer than elsewhere; but when you have got your ideas of cleanliness down to the Cuban standard, a shade or two either way makes no material difference.

Can Grande comes and goes; for stay in the hotel, behind those prison-gratings, he cannot.  He goes to the market and comes back, goes to the Jesuit College and comes back, goes to the banker’s and gets money.  In his encounters with the sun he is like a prize-fighter coming up to time.  Every round finds him weaker and weaker, still his pluck is first-rate, and he goes at it again.  It is not until three, P.M., that he wrings out his dripping pocket-handkerchief, slouches his hat over his brows, and gives in as dead-beat.