“There wasn’t much doing.  Half a dozen discouraged looking girls were sitting to tables in the place.  From California, Mexico, Jamaica they were, and had come on just as soon as they could when they heard about the Revolution, thinking that with the crowd of Americans who were sure to rush down to the peninsula, there ought to be a living for a few clever ladies like themselves.  But up to this time the rush hadn’t got beyond war correspondents and navy people, and now the poor things were sitting to tables and looking as if they wished somebody would loosen up and buy a drink—­even if it was no more than a glass of moxie.

“Cogan’s grand duke turned out to be a Peruvian, a dealer in Panama hats from Lima, and he told Cogan a lot about Panama hats, which weren’t Panama hats at all, and other interesting things—­South America politics and bull fighting especially.  He had a brother Juan, who was a famous mounted capeador, he said—­that’s the man who sits with a red cloak on a horse in the first part of the bull fight and Cogan could see that he was very proud of him.

“Cogan and his Peruvian friend were getting on fine, when a tremendous old Indian woman filled up the doorway, and said something in Spanish to the Peruvian, and he got up, explaining to Cogan that his daughter Valera, who had come with him on this trip to see the strange peoples, had sent to say that he must not forget his good-night before she fell asleep.  ‘She never allows me to forget that,’ said the Peruvian.  ’Also possibly she knows,’ he smiled, ’that if I am at home I shall not be in mis-cheef,’ and he said he hoped they’d meet again next day and bowed himself out.

“Cogan went off later to his hotel.  That’s the same hotel which had been the George Washington Hotel, later the Cleveland House, and at this time was the Hotel McKinley, but with an intention soon to call it the Roosevelt House.  If it’s there now, it must be the Hotel Taft.

“Cogan had the end room of the lower floor of the hotel wing which ran down toward the beach.  The ocean rolled almost up to the window of his room.  It was a calm night with no sea on, and lying there, listening, Cogan could just catch the low swish of the surf.

[Illustration:  He said he hoped they’d meet again next day and bowed himself out]

“It was a hot, close night, and Cogan’s bed no cooler for being wrapped four times around with mosquito netting, so after he had tossed around an hour or two, he guessed he might as well get up and have a swim.  He had only to step through a window, take a hop, step, and jump, and he would be at the edge of the surf; but as he opened up his shutters softly, so as not to disturb anybody else in that wing of the house, he saw that it was already near dawn, and then wh-s-s-t, quick as that, the top edge of the sun popped up.

“Cogan looking out saw a young girl of maybe fourteen years with long black hair hanging loose behind her.  It was a smooth, silver-like sea, with hardly surf enough to raise a white edge on the beach, and the girl, ankle deep in the water, was kicking her feet ahead of her, making a great splashing as she marched along.  Her legs below her knees were bare, and she was gurgling with joy.  By the time she was abreast of Cogan’s window, it was full dawn.