But this was not to be. It had already been arranged that they should spend three days in sight-seeing in and around Havana, and then take side trips to Matanzas, Cardenas and other important cities not far away. After this they were to journey to Santiago, where they were to go out on horseback and view El Caney, San Juan, and other battlefields of the late war. When the professor came in on the evening of the second day, he had a treat in store for them. “I was passing the Tacon, the principal theater of Havana, when I saw an announcement of a celebrated Spanish dramatic company which is playing there in a round of standard dramas. I would like you to see this playhouse, for its size and beauty is known all over the world, and so I purchased tickets for to-night’s performance.” “Good!” came from Darry and Frank in a breath. “I’d like to see a play first rate,” said Mark. “What is it?” “Othello. I suppose you have all seen this, so you can follow the play even if it is in Spanish.” “Oh, pshaw! I thought it was some Spanish variety show,” sighed Hockley. “I should not care to take you to a variety show, Jacob.” “But this will be dead slow.” “If you don’t care to go, you can stay here.” “I guess I’ll stay here then,” answered Hockley. “I’ve got something of a headache, anyway. I’ll go to bed early.” Hockley’s headache was largely imaginary, and his thoughts were on another novel he had picked up, “Handsome Jack, the Dead Game Sport of Chicago.” He had left off where Handsome Jack was confronted by four gamblers who wished to rob him of his fifty thousand dollar diamond stud, and he was anxious to read on and find out how the “hold-up” terminated. “Very well, Jacob,” said Professor Strong. “If you have a headache I think the best thing you can do is to sleep it off. Probably the sight-seeing has been too much for your eyes.” At the proper hour the boys were ready to attend the performance at the Tacon. They were attired in their best, for at this opera house, people invariably wear the finest clothing they possess. The professor called a carriage, and soon they were rolling down the broad highway. “How foolish Hockley is,” whispered Frank to Mark. “He doesn’t know what he is missing. Do you think he’ll really go to bed?” Mark shrugged his shoulders. “It isn’t likely. He’ll read another trashy novel, I fancy.” Mark was right, as we already know. But this was not the depth of Hockley’s shortcomings. The youth had a strong desire to be considered “mannish.” He wanted to follow in the footsteps of certain men he had known and others he had read about. The character of Handsome Jack, “the Dead Game Sport of Chicago,” appealed strongly to him. Jack played cards, drank, went to horse races, and always got the best of the many enemies who tried to “down” him. To poor Hockley, who swallowed these tales and believed them true, he was more of a hero than even “Gold Nose Hank, the Mine Discoverer” had been.