"This life is too slow for me," remarked our hero, as he got outside, and made his way back to where he had left his chums. "Business from eleven to twelve, and from three to four, I presume. Two hours a day! Whew! If dad was down here he'd turn things upside down, and as for Uncle Ezra, he'd have a conniption fit! A _siesta_! Good land! I'm beginning to feel sleepy myself!" The youth walked rapidly along, thereby attracting much attention, for his pace was entirely different from that of the slow-moving and leisure-loving Cubans and Spaniards. Dick found his chums waiting for him, and they had had their fill of the very excellent chocolate served to them. The young millionaire explained his visit to the lawyer, and amused them with his account of the easy-going methods in vogue. "Think of a lawyer closing up his office to go to hear the band play!" exclaimed Dick. "It sure is odd," agreed Beeby. "If it was a ball game now, it wouldn't be so bad." "But there's nothing to hinder us from going to hear the band; is there?" asked Paul Drew. "Especially as we're very likely to see some pretty girls," added Frank Bender. "I say let's go." "All right," agreed Dick, always ready to fall in with the wishes of his guests. "I'll call a couple of carriages. It seems that no one who can afford to ride walks in Havana." Accordingly, in easy-moving, open carriages, drawn by rather sorry-looking specimens of horses, the lads were soon rolling down to the open plaza, where a marine band was already making music. The boys thoroughly enjoyed the varied strains, and they were equally interested in the scenes all around them. The day was fine, and a large throng was out, many Cubans and Spaniards, and not a few Americans strolling about, while more were in open carriages. Frank's remark about the pretty girls was not a bit exaggerated. There were hundreds of them, dark, languishing Spanish beauties, some of whom favored our friends with quick glances from their snapping, black eyes. The boys dined in a Havana restaurant that evening, where they saw more to interest them, while the highly spiced food was a source of some conjecture to them. "Guess I'll have to have some more water, Dick," spoke Tim Muldoon, after he had emptied several glasses. "What's the matter; too much salt in something?" asked Frank. "I noticed it myself." "No, it's too much pepper," replied the newsboy. "Gee-horse! But I struck a mouthful of the red kind that kicks, just then!" and he drained his glass, which a waiter filled, the man laughing silently the while. "I guess we'll have to get used to it," remarked Dick. "I should think, though, that, eating so much red pepper as these folks do, that they'd have a little more motion to them. 'To-morrow' seems to answer for everything. I couldn't stand it for very long at a stretch."