The first thing I noticed as we entered the hotel was the respectful deference paid our conductor by the servants, who seemed eager to wait upon him. The manager came from his little booth with a smile and bow for Señor de Jiminez and promptly assigned Joe and me to a large room which he said was connected with the “suite” of our host. De Jiminez himself conducted us to this room, a very luxurious chamber, and then excused himself, saying: “You will wish to prepare for dinner and I must the same do also. When you are ready, be kind to come into my apartments, Number 18, which is the first door at your left. Have you necessaries in everything?” We assured him we were amply provided for and he left us with a courteous bow. There wasn’t much for us to do, except to wash and brush ourselves and examine the rich furnishings of the place. Neither Joe nor I was an utter stranger to luxurious living, although our ordinary quarters were commonplace enough and our mode of life extremely simple. We have seen palaces of great magnificence, and therefore the handsome room assigned us did not impress us as much as it interested us. We whiled away half or three-quarters of an hour in order not to crowd our host too closely, and then we knocked at the door of room Number 18. CHAPTER III WE MEET SOME QUEER PEOPLE A servant in private livery admitted us to a spacious drawing-room and Señor de Jiminez, arrayed in a regulation dress suit, in which he appeared far more imposing than in the flashy attire he had before worn, advanced quickly to greet us. At a center table sat an aged, pleasant faced lady and crouching in a chair by the fireplace was a youth of about my own age, who bore so strong a facial resemblance to De Jiminez that it needed no shrewdness to guess he was his son. Our host led us first to the lady. “Young gentlemen,” said he, as with profound deference he bowed before her, “I have the honor to present my mother, Señora de Jiminez.” She smiled graciously and extended her hands to us. “It is unfortune,” he added, “that she is not with your English language familiar.” “Oh, but I speak Spanish—a little,” said I; for I had learned it during a sojourn in Panama. Then I told the lady I was glad to meet her, speaking in her own tongue, and she bade me welcome. De Jiminez seemed pleased. He next led me to the young fellow by the fire, who had not risen nor even glanced toward us, but seemed tremendously interested in his own thoughts. These could not have been very pleasant, judging from the somber expression of his face. “My son Alfonso,” said our host, introducing us. “Alfonso, I present Mr. Steele and Mr. Herring, two young American gentlemen I have recently met.” The boy looked up quickly. “Not of the _Seagull_!” he exclaimed in English. “Yes.” “Then—” he began eagerly; but his father stopped him with a gesture.