Miss Hathaway's eyes twinkle. "Has it just occurred to you that you have left your pocketbook at home?" she asks. "Your expression was just such as the humorous artists attach to the subjects of such unfortunate contretemps."
"Ah, but that seldom does happen in real life, Miss Hathaway. No; my sole earthly possessions are at this moment resting securely in the bottom of one small pocket. But what lucky chance brought you within range of my defective vision on Broadway this afternoon?"
"Oh, I have been a dweller in the metropolis since last Saturday. We, that is Mr. Felton and myself, are en route to Cuba."
"To Cuba! Pardon me, but why to that war-racked isle? You see, I have just returned from interviewing a native of Cuba on the situation there, and his description hardly makes it out as a desirable watering-place just at present."
Miss Hathaway laughs, a trifle nervously. "Perhaps it is rather an odd place to go this spring, and while I had a great desire to visit the country I really had no serious idea of gratifying the wish. But one evening while I was thinking of the matter, Mr. Felton suddenly asked me how I would like to go to Cuba. I said I would be delighted to go to escape the chill winds of March, and to my great surprise he suggested that we make preparations and start at once for New York. So here we are, and on Saturday we sail for tropic climes. But do you think there is any danger to Americans traveling in Cuba? I thought—I had read—that the disturbances were limited to some of the far inland districts and that there was no trouble in Havana and the larger cities."
Ashley pulls his mustache thoughtfully. "No, I do not see how there can be possible danger for you," he says at last. "Be sure, to avoid any possible annoyance, to get your passports before leaving New York. By Jove," he murmurs under his breath, "if the Hemisphere should send a man to Cuba, and I that man—well, that wouldn't be half-bad."
