eight shop; while those that could not force their way in held an
overflow meeting on the sidewalk. The proprietor and the rest took turns
at talking to me in rapid-fire Spanish, and, from the expressions on
their faces, all concluded that I was remarkably stupid. Again I went
through my programme, pointing on the sketch from the one shop to the
many shops, pointing out that in this particular shop was one leopard
skin, and then questing interrogatively with my pencil among all the
shops. All regarded me in blank silence, until I saw comprehension
suddenly dawn on the face of a small boy.

"Tigres montanya!" he cried.

This appealed to me as mountain tigers, namely, leopards; and in token
that he understood, the boy made signs for me to follow him, which I
obeyed. He led me for a quarter of a mile, and paused before the doorway
of a large building where soldiers slouched on sentry duty and in and out
of which went other soldiers. Motioning for me to remain, he ran inside.

Fifteen minutes later he was out again, without leopard skins, but full
of information. By means of my card, of my hotel card, of my watch, and
of the boy's fingers, I learned the following: that at six o'clock that
evening he would arrive at my hotel with ten leopard skins for my
inspection. Further, I learned that the skins were the property of one
Captain Ernesto Becucci. Also, I learned that the boy's name was Eliceo.

The boy was prompt. At six o'clock he was at my room. In his hand was a
small roll addressed to me. On opening it I found it to be manuscript
piano music, the _Hora Tranquila Valse_, or "Tranquil Hour Waltz," by
Ernesto Becucci. I came for leopard skins, thought I, and the owner
sends me sheet music instead. But the boy assured me that he would have