“There used to be a regulation that carriages and carts could only pass through a street in one direction. I presume that is still in force in the old part of the town.”
It was not long before they came to the main thoroughfare of Havana, with its quaint Spanish name of Isabel Segunde. Here, as the professor had said, were broad walks with numerous trees, and many fountains. Here was also located the hotel for which they were bound, a large three-storied affair, with broad verandas upon all sides, and the usual courtyard, or patio, in the center.
“This is quite like home,” declared Darry, as he looked around. “I have heard half a dozen folks speaking English. It’s a good deal different from Caracas.”
“The war made the difference, Dartworth. Before that time Havana was as foreign a town as one could find on this side of the Atlantic, and that too although it is but a short journey from Florida.”
The walk to the hotel had tired the party, and all of the boys, especially Hockley, were glad to rest in the patio, with its easy chairs and its cooling fountain. From a distance came the sounds of a band playing some popular air and the effect was most soothing.
“This is what I want,” was the tall youth’s comment. “Beats walking in the hot sun all to pieces.”
“Tell you what, Glummy, the next time you walk you had better ride,” said Frank, with a yawn.
There was a laugh at this “bull” and Hockley’s face grew sour at once.
“How many times must I tell you not to call me ‘Glummy’? I don’t want it and I won’t stand it.”
“All right then, sit down—it’s what we are here for,” returned Frank. “But I’ll try to remember,” he added, as he saw that Hockley’s anger was rising.