“Oh, I have little hope for such a pleasure,” the general quickly replied.  “But if we do meet, remember we Spaniards have a cure for rheumatism.  It is unpleasant, but efficacious.  A little, nickel-plated pill, that is all.”  General Antuna’s teeth shone for an instant.  “There is another remedy, not quite so immediate in its effect, but a good one.  I have tried it and found it excellent.  Drink plenty of cocoanut-water!  That is the Cuban remedy; the other I call the Spanish cure.  Cocoanuts are splendid.  I shall see that a crate of the choicest fruit is placed aboard your steamer.  Accept them with my compliments, and when you partake of them think of me.”

O’Reilly did think of General Antuna, not only when he was escorted to the railway station at daylight, but when he and Branch took their seats and their guards filed in behind them.  He assured himself moodily that he would not cease to think of that sardonic old joker for a long time to come.  He cursed savagely; the memory of these wasted weeks, the narrow margin of his failure, filled him with a sick feeling of dismay and impotence.  His mind quailed at the consequence of this new delay.  Where was Rosa now?  How and when would he return?  With difficulty he resisted the impulse to fling himself from the moving train; but he composed himself by the thought that Cuba was not fenced about with bayonets.  He would come back.

Leslie Branch broke in upon his gloomy preoccupation by asking, “How much money have you?”

“Less than ten dollars.”

“You’re rich.  My landlady cleaned me.  Is it the practice of beneficent monarchies to provide transportation for their departing guests?”

“Undoubtedly.”

Branch coughed dismally.  “It ’ll be all right if they just buy me a ticket to the first fog.  One more hemorrhage and I’ll wing my way aloft.  God!  I’d hate to be buried at sea.”

“Cheer up!” O’Reilly reassured him, irritably.  “There may be ice aboard.”

“Ice!” Leslie gasped.  “Oh, bullets!”

In marked contrast to the difficulties of entering Cuba was the ease of leaving it.  A ship was sailing from Neuvitas on the very afternoon when the two Americans arrived, and they were hurried aboard.  Not until the anchor was up did their military escort depart from them.

With angry, brooding eyes O’Reilly watched the white houses along the water-front dwindle away, the mangrove swamps slip past, and the hills rise out of their purple haze.  When the salt breath of the trades came to his nostrils he turned into his state-room, and, taking the crate of cocoanuts with which General Antuna had thoughtfully provided him, he bore it to the rail and dropped it overboard.

“Rheumatism was a fool disease, anyhow,” he muttered.

“Great news!” Esteban Varona announced one day as he dismounted after a foraging trip into the Yumuri, “We met some of Lacret’s men and they told us that Spain has recalled Captain-General Campos.  He acknowledges himself powerless to stem the flood of Cuban revolution.  What do you say to that?”