Martha's spectacles dropped low on her nose and, looking over the rims of them in grave meditation, she said: "If you can't put up with codfish salad you had better make short work of your inspection of the land and sea defences of the city of Havana. You are likely to starve in the meantime. A man who is particular about his food has come to the wrong town if he is in Havana now."
"No, but——" asked Johnnie seriously. "Haven't you any bread?"
"Bread!"
"Well, coffee then? Coffee alone will do."
"Coffee!"
Johnnie arose deliberately and took his hat. Martha eyed him. "And where do you think you are goin'?" she asked cuttingly.
Still deliberate, Johnnie moved in the direction of the street-door. "I'm goin' where I can get something to eat."
Martha sank into a chair with a moan which was a finished opinion—almost a definition—of Johnnie's behaviour in life. "And where will you go?" she asked faintly.
"Oh, I don't know," he rejoined. "Some café. Guess I'll go to the Café Aguacate. They feed you well there. I remember——"
"You remember? They remember! They know you as well as if you were the sign over the door."