It was the portrait of
a typical Spanish cavalier and beyond doubt a Menendez. In fact, the
resemblance between the haughty Spanish grandee, who seemed about to
step out of the canvas and pick a quarrel with the spectator, and
Colonel Don Juan himself was almost startling. Evidently, our host had
imported most of his belongings from Cuba.
"Gentlemen," he said, as we entered, "make yourselves quite at home, I
beg. All my poor establishment contains is for your entertainment and
service."
He drew up two long, low lounge chairs, the arms provided with
receptacles to contain cooling drinks; and the mere sight of these
chairs mentally translated me to the Spanish Main, where I pictured
them set upon the veranda of that hacienda which had formerly been our
host's residence.
Harley and I became seated and Colonel Menendez disposed himself upon a
leather-covered couch, nodding apologetically as he did so.
"My health requires that I should recline for a certain number of hours
every day," he explained. "So you will please forgive me."
"My dear Colonel Menendez," said Harley, "I feel sure that you are
interrupting your siesta in order to discuss the unpleasant business
which finds us in such pleasant surroundings.
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