This was about the first question I asked after sitting down to breakfast in the dining-room of a small boarding-house run by a German woman. The question was prompted by definite reports which had reached us at San Benito, Mexico, that ex-President Barillas was at Tapachula with about twenty-five followers “armed to the teeth.” At any time, however, it would be the proper question to ask at breakfast, or not later than dinner, for revolutions are the only things that occur in a hurry down there. Absolute silence followed the question for some time. Finally, a native Guatemaltecan (thus it is they write it and not Guatemalan) answered with “No, there is no revolution.” After this man had gone out, an American who had been sitting at the table took up the question and said that there was considerable talk of a revolution because of dissatisfaction, and the government was very much alarmed. He added, “We have to be very careful what we say, as spies are everywhere, and the man who first answered you is one of them.” Champerico is a town of perhaps fifteen hundred inhabitants and not a very attractive place, as a great part of it is made up of the poor, native quarters. It is usually very hot in the sun, although pleasant in the shade. The railway promised an early escape, but the prospective passengers were informed that the train was off the track just outside the town and it was late in the afternoon before the train finally started. The train only went as far as Retalhuleu that night, about twenty miles, as the engineer would not risk running after it became dark. The country through which the road passed exhibited a rank and luxuriant growth of tropical foliage, the product of a swampy soil and moist climate. That same evening in the Hotel Pantoja, a very good ten dollar a day hotel, while sitting in the office engaged in conversation with another American, the landlord, who did not understand English, walked by us twice with a warning gesture to be careful what was said. He afterwards explained that there was another American present in the room who was looked upon as a spy. This alleged spy I met on the train later, and he proved to be an aide on the staff of President Cabrera. Although a citizen of the United States by birth, he was a man, who, as I afterwards learned, from personal observation, stood quite high in government circles and would scarcely have been a good man to entrust with any plots against the government of his chief.