The _señorita_ Rosario, the sister-in-law of the proprietor, came in to entertain me presently, dressed in a bodice of blue _piña_, with the wide sleeves newly starched and ironed, and with her hair unbound. She sat down opposite me in a rocking-chair, shook off her slippers on the floor, and curling her toes around the rung, rocked violently back and forth. She punctuated her remarks by frequent clucks, which, I suppose, were meant to be coquettish. Her music-teacher was expected presently; so while I wrote a letter on her _escritorio_, the _señorita_ smoked a cigarette upon the balcony. The _maestro_ came at last; a little, pock-marked fellow, dapper, and neatly dressed, his fingers stained with nicotine from cigarettes. Together they took places at the small piano, and I could see by their exchange of glances that the music-lesson was an incidental feature of the game. They sang together from a Spanish opera the song of Pepin, the great braggadocio, of whom 't is said, when he goes walking in the streets, "the girls assemble just to see him pass." "Cuando me lanzo a calle Con el futsaque y el cla, Todas las niñas se asoman Solo por ver me pasar: Unas a otras se dicen Que chico mas resa lao! De la sal que va tirando Voy a coher un punao." When the music-teacher had departed, the _señorita_ leaned out of the balcony, watching the crowd of beggars in the street below. Of all the beggars of the Orient, those of Cebu are the most clinging and persistent and repulsive. Covered with filthy rags and scabs, with emaciated bodies and pinched faces, they are allowed to come into the city every week and beg for alms. Their whining, "_Da mi dinero, señor, mucho pobre me_" ("Give me some money, sir, for I am very poor"), sounds like a last wail from the lower world.