“I do not need food,” declared Juan, trying to puff out his thin cheeks. “Happiness will sustain me.” “I’m hungry, and not ashamed to say so,” interposed Hal, with a laugh. “If Captain Blodgett will do something to relieve that, I beg you, my dear fellow, to wait here a few moments.” Juan reluctantly consented. A bustling steward soon had the table spread with hearty food. Hal ate a hearty meal. Ramirez fed like one famished. “Bah!” uttered the Cuban, rising in disgust at last. “I have made such a wolf of myself that I am not fit to walk. But to you, captain, I offer a thousand thanks for your hospitality, and a thousand apologies for the spectacle I have made of myself.” “I shall hold together until to-morrow,” murmured Hal, rising with a satisfied air. “Captain, my most earnest thanks.” Now the bustling steward came back with two parcels of food which he helped the young men to stow away under their jackets. Captain Blodgett, hearty, if somewhat taciturn, followed them to the deck, slipping into Hal’s hand a receipt for the money, which he undertook to forward to its destination. “The best of good luck, lads,” came in an earnest whisper from the English captain, as he offered each a hand at the same time. They stepped ashore, Ramirez acting as guide. Of all that followed, during the next two hours, Hal had, at the end of that time, only the vague recollection that follows a dream. But they reached the southern outskirts of Havana without mishap; they trudged along a dusty country road, dodging behind trees or into the brush whenever Ramirez’s acute hearing warned them of the presence or approach of military. “Do you see those lights ahead?” queried Juan, at last. “Yes.” “Those lights come from the Inn of the Red Cavalier. It is the inn where Spanish officers dine when they return from the interior well provided with plunder taken from those who had yet something left to lose. Judging by the sounds, there are officers dining there now.” “A good place to keep away from, eh?” queried Hal. “By no means, senor. Keep close to me, and I hope to show you that such places as the inn are useful to the insurgents.” Ramirez left the road, plunging into the depths of a grove. The nearer he came to the inn the more slowly he moved. Frequent bursts of laughter were now audible from the inn. “They are happy, the Spanish fiends,” muttered Juan, grating his teeth. “Yet, senor, they are feeding on the very blood of Cuba!” Rattle of dishes and clink of glasses came to the ears of the listeners. Outside the inn were tethered some two score of horses, while soldiers lolled about over the ground, some eating bread, while others puffed at cigarettes. “Twenty of our own brave Cuban fellows could stop that gayety forever,” growled Ramirez, savagely. “But there are at least forty of the enemy,” observed Hal.