"Not—er—not too early, if I may venture to suggest such a thing, my dear Senor Hamilton," spoke the lawyer, gently. "I seldom breakfast before ten, and at eleven o'clock I shall be most happy to receive you."
"Very well, eleven o'clock then," conceded Dick. "And then we can take the rest of the morning, and the whole afternoon, to looking into this matter."
"Pardon me, senor, but did I hear you aright—the whole afternoon, did you say?" and Don Ferdinand Hondora looked pained.
"Yes—why not?"
"Ah, but Senor Hamilton forgets that there is the noon siesta to be taken into consideration. One must have the siesta or—well, business is never done during the siesta or sleep hour," and once more the Spanish lawyer shrugged his shoulders, raised his eyebrows, and threw his hands out in front of him as if he had no further use for them.
"Well," remarked Dick, with a sigh, "when you're in Rome, you have to do as the Romans do, I suppose."
"That's it, Senor Hamilton!" cried the attorney, with a relieved laugh. "And when one is in Havana, he goes to hear the band, he sips his chocolate, and he takes his siesta at the usual hour. To break the customs is to—well, it is never done," and once more he went through his little performance, which seemed to save him considerable in the way of talk.
"Then I'll meet you here at eleven o'clock," added the youth, as he turned to go. "I'll leave these papers, which my father gave me, with you, and, if you should happen to hear any news this afternoon, or evening, you might send word down to my yacht—the Albatross. We're going to stay on board to-night, and put up at a hotel to-morrow. So, if you have any word——"
"Pardon me, Senor Hamilton, it is not likely that I shall have any word of the missing family, who are distant relatives of your late respected mother, to-night—hardly possible. All business is over in Havana long ago. Now, I go to hear the band, and to drink my chocolate, and I would only be too happy to have your pleasurable company."