When, for the third time, he appeared
without knocking, O'Reilly suspected something.
"You have everything, eh?" Mr. Carbajal teetered upon the balls of
his feet while his small black eyes roved inquisitively.
"Everything in abundance."
"There is water, eh?" The proprietor peered dutifully into the
pitcher, incidentally taking stock of O'Reilly's toilet articles.
"A veritable ocean of it."
"One never knows. These servants are so lazy. But--your other
baggage, your trunk?"
"I have no trunk."
"So? I took you to be a great traveler."
"I am."
"Selling goods, eh?"
"No."
"Indeed? Then you are a pleasure traveler? You see the sights, is
that it? Well, Cuba is beautiful."
"Most beautiful, judging from what I have seen."
Mr. Carbajal wagged a pudgy forefinger at his guest. "Tut! Tut!
You know Cuba. You speak the language better than a native. You
can't fool me, sly one!" He wrinkled his face and winked both
eyes. It was an invitation to further confidence, and he was
disappointed when it passed unnoticed. "Well, you Americans are a
brave people," he continued, with an obvious effort to keep the
conversation going. "You like to be where the fighting is."
"Not I. I'm a timid man."
"Ho! Ha! Ha!" the proprietor cackled. Then he became pensive.
"There is nothing here at Neuvitas to interest a tourist--except
the war.
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