As may be imagined, the jackies lost no time in mooring the boat. Lots were then quickly drawn to see who should remain on watch in it. The lot fell to a young sailor named Diamond. With eager looks about them the others quickly made off, leaving Ned, Herc and Stanley standing alone. The loungers swarmed about them. Some were begging, others had small articles of native manufacture to sell. It took some minutes to shake them off, and then the three sailormen headed up a tree-bordered street which seemed to lead toward the outskirts of the town. Some moments of brisk uphill walking brought them to a pretty red-tiled house, in front of which, under spreading tropical vegetation, several small vine-covered booths were scattered about. A sign in front proclaimed that American soda was for sale there. “Say, I’m as thirsty as a limekiln!” exclaimed Herc, as his eyes fell on the sign. “What do you fellows say to sampling some of that?” He pointed to the sign. All agreed it would be a good idea, and soon they were seated in a small booth awaiting the arrival of a waiter. “Queer they should have soda down here,” commented Herc, gazing approvingly about at the snug nest of greenery, through which a pleasant breeze from the blue bay beneath swept refreshingly. “Oh, I don’t know,” rejoined Stanley, “these dagoes have taken to soda amazingly since they first tasted it on American steamers. Besides, you know, the mail boats bring tourists down here in the winter.” At this point the conversation of the trio was interrupted by the arrival of a stout, black-mustached man in a white duck suit, wearing a big panama hat and carrying a palm-leaf fan. “How do you do?” he exclaimed in excellent English, though he was palpably a native. The boys responded in kind, and then, to their amazement, the aristocratic newcomer inquired what it would be their pleasure to drink. Their astonishment must have reflected itself on their faces, for, with a light laugh, the white-ducked individual burst forth with explanations. On account of the revolution his waiters had all left--been impressed into the army, he explained, so he had to do the waiting himself. Anyhow, it was the off season, so he did not so much mind. Where were the revolutionists? Oh, quien sabe? Over in the mountains somewhere. The mountains acted as a natural barrier to Boca del Sierras, he was happy to say, and so long as the brave government troops could keep the insurgents on the other side of the range all would be well. Having taken the orders, he hurried away. While he was gone the boys’ talk reverted to various topics, when suddenly Herc, who had been gazing at the harbor below them, exclaimed: “Why, this is the place the _Donna Mercedes_ sailed from.” “So it is,” responded Ned, “and, by the way, that reminds me, Stanley, that I promised to show you those papers before I handed them over to Lieutenant Timmons.” “Good gracious! haven’t you done that yet?” demanded Herc.