his way to the street in which El Refugio stood. When he reached that
neighborhood he saw a sign before a respectable red-brick house that
read, "Hotel Espanol." In the window was a card in Spanish, "Aqui se
habla Espanol." The General entered, sure of a congenial port.

In the cozy office was Mrs. O'Brien, the proprietress. She had
blond--oh, unimpeachably blond hair. For the rest she was amiability,
and ran largely to inches around. Gen. Falcon brushed the floor with
his broad-brimmed hat, and emitted a quantity of Spanish, the syllables
sounding like firecrackers gently popping their way down the string of
a bunch.

"Spanish or Dago?" asked Mrs. O'Brien, pleasantly.

"I am a Colombian, madam," said the General, proudly. "I speak the
Spanish. The advisement in your window say the Spanish he is spoken
here. How is that?"

"Well, you've been speaking it, ain't you?" said the madam. "I'm sure I
can't."

At the Hotel Espanol General Falcon engaged rooms and established
himself. At dusk he sauntered out upon the streets to view the wonders
of this roaring city of the North. As he walked he thought of the
wonderful golden hair of Mme. O'Brien. "It is here," said the General
to himself, no doubt in his own language, "that one shall find the most
beautiful senoras in the world. I have not in my Colombia viewed among
our beauties one so fair. But no! It is not for the General Falcon to
think of beauty. It is my country that claims my devotion."