planter in Cuba and still owned a big ranch there and could tell him
tales of Cuban life--rebellions, ambuscades, hand-to-hand fighting with
machetes on his own plantation, and things of that sort. He brought
with him a collection of Indian curies, to say nothing of an independent
fortune and several slaves--one, named Manuel, a tall, raw-boned black,
was his constant attendant, a bodyservant, as it were. He shipped raw
sugar from his plantation in boat-loads to the Southwark wharves in
Philadelphia. Frank liked him because he took life in a hearty, jovial
way, rather rough and offhand for this somewhat quiet and reserved
household.

"Why, Nancy Arabella," he said to Mrs Cowperwood on arriving one Sunday
afternoon, and throwing the household into joyous astonishment at his
unexpected and unheralded appearance, "you haven't grown an inch! I
thought when you married old brother Hy here that you were going to
fatten up like your brother. But look at you! I swear to Heaven you
don't weigh five pounds." And he jounced her up and down by the waist,
much to the perturbation of the children, who had never before seen
their mother so familiarly handled.

Henry Cowperwood was exceedingly interested in and pleased at the
arrival of this rather prosperous relative; for twelve years before,
when he was married, Seneca Davis had not taken much notice of him.

"Look at these little putty-faced Philadelphians," he continued, "They
ought to come down to my ranch in Cuba and get tanned up. That would
take away this waxy look." And he pinched the cheek of Anna Adelaide,
now five years old. "I tell you, Henry, you have a rather nice place
here." And he looked at the main room of the rather conventional
three-story house with a critical eye.