CHAPTER XVI.
THE BEGINNING OF THE TRAIL.
"Don Rafael Manada? Yes, sir! Front, show the
gentleman to No. 48."
A few minutes later Ashley is ushered into one of the most sumptuous and expensive suites in the big hotel.
He bows gracefully to the tall gentleman who advances to meet his visitor, bearing in his hand the card that has preceded him. Don Rafael is a man at whom even the least observant would be likely to take a second glance. Of perhaps 40 years of age, his hair of raven hue and unusual abundance is still unflecked by gray. The face is of olive hue, cleanly shaven save as to heavy mustachios, which by an odd freak of nature are snow white; heavy eyebrows of the same hue as the hair surmount eyes of piercing brilliancy; a long, aquiline nose, lips and mouth a trifle too sensuous for the rest of the features, complete a singularly interesting countenance.
"You came from the Hemisphere?" queries Don Manada, in melodious tones, with hardly a trace of the Castilian accent. "I am pleased to greet a representative of that great journal, whose influence is always cast on the side of right and justice. I read with the deepest emotions of gratitude this morning an editorial in your journal protesting against the proclamation which the administration has issued against the fitting out of expeditions designed to aid the insurrection in Cuba. Your paper properly urged that the United States government should recognize the Cubans as belligerents. Ah, my dear sir, could that be done, Cuba would be a free republic within the twelvemonth," finishes Manada, enthusiastically.
"It was to secure an expression of opinion from you on the outlook in Cuba and the preparations being made in this country that I have been commissioned to interview you, Don Rafael," says Jack Ashley.
"Anything that it would be proper for me to say, as the
