pretty girls," added Frank Bender. "I say let's go."
"All right," agreed Dick, always ready to fall in with the wishes of his guests. "I'll call a couple of carriages. It seems that no one who can afford to ride walks in Havana."
Accordingly, in easy-moving, open carriages, drawn by rather sorry-looking specimens of horses, the lads were soon rolling down to the open plaza, where a marine band was already making music. The boys thoroughly enjoyed the varied strains, and they were equally interested in the scenes all around them. The day was fine, and a large throng was out, many Cubans and Spaniards, and not a few Americans strolling about, while more were in open carriages. Frank's remark about the pretty girls was not a bit exaggerated. There were hundreds of them, dark, languishing Spanish beauties, some of whom favored our friends with quick glances from their snapping, black eyes.
The boys dined in a Havana restaurant that evening, where they saw more to interest them, while the highly spiced food was a source of some conjecture to them.
"Guess I'll have to have some more water, Dick," spoke Tim Muldoon, after he had emptied several glasses.
"What's the matter; too much salt in something?" asked Frank. "I noticed it myself."
"No, it's too much pepper," replied the news-
