in the principal saloon. Meanwhile a messenger was sent to find the
American man teacher, who had been notified by telegram to arrange
for my accommodation. The saloon was a very innocent-looking one,
so that I mistook it for a grocery storeroom. Such as it was, it
represented the best the Filipinos could do in the saloon line. One
sees, in Manila and, for that matter, all up and down the Chinese
and Japanese coasts, the typical groggery of America with somebody's
"Place" printed large over the entrance, and a painted screen blocking
the doorway with its suggestions of unseemliness. But the provincial
saloon is still essentially Spanish--a clean, light room with no
reservations, the array of bottles on the shelves smiling down on
the little green cloth-covered tables where the domino and card games
go on. There may be an ancient billiard table in one corner with its
accompanying cue rack, and there is almost sure to be a little hole
in the ceiling through which the proprietor's wife, who resides above,
can peep down and watch the card games. It is a genuine family resort,
too, for between four and seven all the town is likely to drop in,
the women chaffering or gossiping while their lords enjoy a glass of
beer and a game of dominoes.

The proprietor's wife must have had a fine look at me as I sat mopping
my sunburned face. At last the American teacher came, a pleasant-faced
young man who spoke Spanish excellently and was quite an adept at
the vernacular. In due time I was ushered into a room in a house
on the far side of the river, the window of which commanded a fine
view of the bridge, the plaza, the gray old church, and the jail,
with the excitements of guard mount and retreat thrown in.

The room had a floor of boards, each one of which was at least two feet
wide. They were rudely nailed and were separated by dirt-filled cracks,