they play nothing but waltzes, and he stands in front of them, and begins by raising himself on his toes, and then he lifts his shoulders gently—and then sinks back again and raises his baton as though he were drawing the music out after it, and the whole place seems to rock and move. It's like being picked up and carried on the deck of a yacht over great waves; and all around you are the beautiful Viennese women and those tall Austrian officers in their long, blue coats and flat hats and silver swords. And there are cool drinks—" continued Clay, with his eyes fixed on the coming storm—"all sorts of cool drinks—in high, thin glasses, full of ice, all the ice you want—" 

 "Oh, drop it, will you?" cried Langham, with a shrug of his damp shoulders.  "I can't stand it. I'm parching." 

 "Wait a minute," interrupted MacWilliams, leaning forward and looking into the night.  "Some one's coming."  There was a sound down the road of hoofs and the rattle of the land-crabs as they scrambled off into the bushes, and two men on horseback came suddenly out of the darkness and drew rein in the light from the open door. The first was General Mendoza, the leader of the Opposition in the Senate, and the other, his orderly. The General dropped his Panama hat to his knee and bowed in the saddle three times. 

 "Good-evening, your Excellency," said Clay, rising.  "Tell that peon to get my coat, will you?" he added, turning to Langham. Langham clapped his hands, and the clanging of a guitar ceased, and their servant and cook came out from the back of the hut and held the General's horse while he dismounted.  "Wait until I get you a chair," said Clay. "You'll find those steps rather bad for white duck." 

 "I am fortunate in finding you at home," said the officer, smiling, and showing his white teeth.  "The telephone is not working. I tried at the club, but I could not call you." 

 "It's the storm, I suppose," Clay answered, as he struggled into his jacket.  "Let me offer you something to drink."  He entered the house, and returned with several bottles on a tray and a bundle of cigars. The Spanish-American poured himself out a glass of water, mixing it with Jamaica rum, and said, smiling again, "It is a saying of your countrymen that when a man first comes to Olancho he puts a little rum into his water, and that when he is here some time he puts a little water in his rum." 

 "Yes," laughed Clay.  "I'm afraid that's true." 

 There was a pause while the men sipped at their glasses, and looked at 

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