Picking his way along in this delectable neighborhood Roderic finally gave utterance to an eager exclamation--his eyes had fallen upon the little whitewashed cabin for which he had been on the _qui vive_. Another moment and his fist was beating a tattoo upon the door, a summons that was loud enough to arouse the dead--from within a movement was heard, and then the door opened cautiously a few inches. Roderic uttered some talismanic words in Spanish that brought a delighted exclamation from the hut's occupant--a brown hand reached out and when the door closed it shut out the awful clamor of the storm, for the Yankee had found a warm reception within the walls of old San Juan. CHAPTER XVII. THE BOLERO DANCER WITH THE GYPSY BLOOD. Porto Rico as a territory of the progressive American republic will soon be transformed--while advancing with giant strides along the material road that may lead to statehood, the island must gradually lose those picturesque and distinctly national features that have marked Spanish rule for centuries. Never again will San Juan be the same gay, careless, pleasure seeking capital of the past--the business loving, bustling Yankee shopkeeper banishes such folly, or at best makes it play second fiddle to his trading. San Juan will be swept and garnished, her streets paved, her narrowest _calles_ lighted, and within a few years she may vie even with Boston in regard to the conditions that make life worth living to the average American. But the halo of romance and the worship of military heroes that has been her portion during these long centuries--alas! they have fled, to return no more. Many will sigh as they raise the curtain of the past, and take one more peep at the gay bright scene stamped upon memory's tablets. There is a peculiar fascination about Spanish and Oriental cities, a barbaric splendor that attracts the eye, even while our common sense tells us of its tawdry nature. Many have described the San Juan of the past, and as a picture that has been turned to the wall, let us for the last time see the Porto Rican capital through the glasses of a clever newspaperman, whose pen paints its colors just as might the faithful camera. This was as Roderic saw it the day after his safe entry into the town: San Juan wakes early. By seven o'clock the shops are open, and a stirring of wide shutters in the upper stories of the houses shows that even the women are about. Hundreds of men are having their coffee in the _cafés_. Probably a band is playing somewhere, which means a detachment of troops returning from early mass in the Cathedral.