The clerk stared at him in astonishment. “If such is the case, it is the first time I have heard of it!” he declared. “Might I inquire what put such a thought in your head, señor? Have you any information to that effect?” “I?” exclaimed Hawley, with a deprecating smile. “I arrived at Baracoa only a few hours ago. What should I know about the affairs of your interesting country?” Later that day, Hawley got his first sight of Miguel Portiforo, President of Baracoa. There was a big military parade in honor of “the overthrow of the revolution,” and the president rode at the head of his troops in an open carriage, flanked on each side by an escort of cavalry. Standing in front of the Hotel Nacional, the Camera Chap gazed with great interest upon the man with whom he realized he must expect to match wits in order to carry out the delicate and difficult errand which had been intrusted to him. At first sight the president did not impress him as being a man of formidable personality. Although he wore a glittering uniform of scarlet and gold, he was far from presenting a military appearance. He was undersized and exceedingly fat, and his bloated face was as round as a pumpkin. As he smiled in acknowledgment of the plaudits of the crowds, he looked like an easy-going, jovial old boy, who would have been more at home at a banquet table proposing a toast to “the ladies--God bless ’em,” than ruling with an iron hand over the political destinies of a turbulent South American republic. That was the first impression which the Camera Chap formed of Miguel Portiforo, but just then an incident happened which quickly caused him to change his estimate of that dignitary. As the president’s carriage was passing, a man in the front rank of the crowd on the sidewalk outside the Hotel Nacional stepped forward, and, gesticulating wildly, began to abuse Portiforo in a tone loud enough to reach the latter’s ears. The man was staggering as though intoxicated. Hawley learned later that he was a humble shoemaker of Santa Barbara, who, when in a normal condition, was as meek and law-abiding a citizen as was to be found in all Baracoa, but who now had been celebrating the overthrow of the revolution to such an extent that he was not responsible for what he said or did. Although the fellow’s condition was obvious, Portiforo made no allowance for it. Glancing at the latter, the Camera Chap was appalled by the change which had come over him as the drunken man’s abuse fell upon his ears. The jovial smile had disappeared. In its stead had come an expression terrible to behold. The beady eyes were snapping with rage. The thin lips were parted in a snarl. Curiously the president’s plump face seemed suddenly to have lost all its roundness, and to have been remolded into lines sinister and cruel. It was not until he had seen several soldiers rush forward, seize the offender, and drag him off, struggling and screaming, that his features relaxed, and the jovial smile returned.