A low wall encircled the entire cafe, beyond this, the visitors parked their cars and hitched their horses in the shade of invitingly cooling palm trees. In the rear, stood a two-story, yellow stucco building, housing the bar, gaming tables, dance floor and private rooms of the Cantina. A large veranda, going the full length of the building and shaded with leaves and flowers, had been built in front of the house, where native men and women lounged lazily during the day and night, sipping coffee or liquor and playing dominoes. The cafe, which occupied the entire ground floor, had a large bar to the left that was never idle. The floor was of strikingly colored tiles. Marble top tables where visitors, who came to drink and be entertained, sat around, was over to the right, looking out upon the open patio. The rear was separated in two by a partition, the front of which was occupied by the string orchestra, while the other side shielded the gaming tables that were always buzzing with activity. The center of the great room, when an entertainer wasn’t performing, served as a dance floor for the patrons. Above this inclosure of laughter and care-free activity, a narrow balcony encircled the room, reached by a small stairway to the left of the orchestra stand. As Lefty cautiously made his way up the steps of the veranda, making certain that there were no interfering military police near by who might spoil his evening, he saw many white civilians mixing with the native visitors; waiters bustling in and out between rows of tables, bringing and taking orders, and the five-piece string orchestra in the rear, playing a vigorous accompaniment for a lovely and shapely dark-skinned girl, wearing a large sombrero, a silk blouse and a wide, colorful skirt. She was dancing a Spanish fandango in the center of the tiled floor. Suddenly the music stopped and the girl fell to the floor on her knees, smiling ingratiatingly as she raised her head to receive the vociferous applause of her appreciative audience. She stood up, threw a profusion of kisses in all directions and ran up the steps to the balcony, opening a door and disappearing into one of the little rooms occupied by the performers. As Lefty crossed the dance floor to the bar, the eyes of both natives and whites followed his progress with astonishment, leaning over their tables to whisper in speculation as to what would be the Marine’s fate should he be discovered by his officers or the military police. Just about this time, a faded, coarse-looking blond woman attired in a thin, black silk dress with a wide skirt, meandered over to the orchestra stand, now deserted by the musicians. She slouched down on the piano stool and lazily lifted her thin, white hands, letting them fall upon the keys. Slowly and softly, she began to play one of those ancient torch ballads, popular in the States years before prohibition.