Test Bank for Invitation to Environmental Sociology 5th Edition

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An Invitation to Environmental Sociology, 5th Edition

Bell and Ashwood

Chapter 2: Consumption and Materialism

Test Bank
NOTE: the correct answer to each Multiple Choice, True/False, Short Answer, and
Essay Questions are italicized.

Multiple Choice: Choose the BEST answer from the four foils provided.

1. According to the economist Fred Hirsch, a “positional good” is a good or commodity:

(p. 60)
a) that places you in a high status position relative to those who don’t possess it.
b) that is desirable because of short supply or limited access.
c) that is desirable because it has a high price tag.
d) all of the above.

2. Who is/was the “original affluent society” according to Marshall Sahlins? (p. 54)
a) Hunter gatherers
b) Agrarian pastoralists
c) The aristocracy of Europe and Asia
d) Wealthy Western capitalists

3. All of the following are elements of rational choice theory EXCEPT: (p. 63)
a) interest, especially self-interest.
b) sentiments.
c) the quest for personal gain or advantage.
d) a hidden agenda among rational actors.

4. The hau of material objects refers to: (p. 64)

a) superstitious belief in animate objects.
b) the utility of material objects that serve our interests.
c) sentimental connections and social relationships embodied in things.
d) the respect we have for tools and technologies created by humans.
5. Of the many techniques advertisers use to persuade customers to purchase
goods, which is the most effective? (p. 65)
a) Appeal to sentiments—accentuating affection, love, belongingness, community,
patriotism, and other values that may be conferred upon the consumer by
acquisition of the product
b) Price advertising—appealing to the financial concerns of consumers
c) “You” or status advertising—suggesting the product is offered out of concern for
you and will provide heightened prestige to those who acquire it (the product)
d) Green advertising—appealing to the environmental concerns of consumers

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An Invitation to Environmental Sociology, 5th Edition
Bell and Ashwood

6. Comparing the workload of American workers in 1973 and 2006, the economist and
sociologist Juliet Schor concluded that American workers in 2006 worked the equivalent
of: (p. 70)
a) one week longer each year than their 1973 counterparts (more than 40
additional hours annually).
b) five weeks longer each year than their 1973 counterparts (more than
200 additional hours annually).
c) one week less each year than their 1973 counterparts (40 hours less a year).
d) five weeks less each year than their 1973 counterparts (200 hours less a year).

7. Juliet Schor estimates that to achieve the standard of living experienced by workers in
1948, U.S. workers today would need to work how long? (p. 70)
a) 4 hours daily
b) 8 hours daily
c) 12 hours daily
d) more than 16 hours daily

8. Although we know that money can’t buy happiness, research in Britain and
the United States suggests that: (p. 73)
a) unskilled and partly skilled workers at the bottom of the pay scale are happier
than other workers.
b) skilled manual workers from lower middle pay scale are happier than better-
paid, non-manual, professional workers.
c) middle-class workers are happier than their wealthy counterparts.
d) the wealthy express the least level of happiness with their standard of living.

9. What is the “paradox of a positional economy?” (p. 60)

a) 1% of the world owns 95% of the world’s wealth.
b) Treadmills of production and consumption push individuals in contradictory
directions.
c) Treadmills of consumption speed up as more people purchase more.
d) Levels of consumption are constantly devalued as more people attain
them due to general economic growth.

10. Identify the fallacy in Douglas and Isherwood’s theory of consumption matching. (p.
73)
a) We always strive to maximize our wealth.
b) We always aim to maintain the consumption of those just below us in status.
c) We nearly always attempt to match those just above us in status.
d) We desire to simplify and reduce the complexity of our material lives.

11. What is hau? (p. 64)

a) A social spirit attached to gifts that suggests or requires reciprocity
b) Reciprocal gift-giving
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An Invitation to Environmental Sociology, 5th Edition
Bell and Ashwood

c) A cohesive force in communities

d) All of the above

12. How might the establishment of wildlife refuges and international treaties to
protect endangered species actually increase their vulnerability and hasten their
extinction? (p. 60)
a) By accentuating their scarcity
b) By driving up their value
c) By making them a “positional good”
d) All of the above

13. Why would an individual who owns a positional good attempt to limit others’ access
to that good? (p. 74)
a) For positional advantage, status, and prestige
b) To intentional disorient others away from a prestigious position
c) To accumulate advantage
d) To encourage market competition

14. Why does Marshall Sahlins state that hunter-gatherers are the original affluent
society? (p. 54)
a) They eat well, work little, and have lots of leisure time.
b) They are rich in terms of meeting their needs.
c) Their material wants are easily satisfied because they don’t want much.
d) All of the above.

15. Your text discusses several flaws in Maslow’s theory of the hierarchy of needs.
Which of the following is one of those flaws? (p. 54)
a) Needs are experienced in hierarchical order.
b) Model has Eastern bias.
c) Theory is too dialogical.
d) Theory can’t account for why we consume more than we need.

16. How might the time crunch of contemporary life propel environmental damage? (p.
70)
a) Lack of leisure time requires more pre-made foods.
b) Cycle of work-and-spend increases household tasks.
c) More rest time requires more time-saving tools.
d) All of the above.

17. Interests often refer to: (p. 50, 63)

a) the original affluent society.
b) the cycle of work-and-spend.
c) how we decide how to spend our time.
d) how we make choices based on material gain for ourselves.
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An Invitation to Environmental Sociology, 5th Edition
Bell and Ashwood

18. Which of the following concepts refer to decisions that do not necessarily result in
material gain? (p. 63)
a) Hau
b) Sentiments
c) Community
d) Hierarchy of needs

19. Although it is often argued that consumerism damages the community, it can
also enhance community. How so? (p. 73)
a) Consumption is connected to competitive displays.
b) A double message of affluence and ecological dialogue.
c) The time crunch can require communal sharing.
d) Community-building events are often connected to consumerism.

20. Less time for leisure creates a time crunch which necessitates more shopping for
necessities and also as a substitute for community. This consumption perpetuates: (p.
70)
a) a dialogical connection between consumerism and the time crunch.
b) environmental degradation
c) workers then purchase more goods because they have less time, thus,
consumerism.
d) all of the above.

True or False: Please indicate whether the following statements are true or false by
circling the correct answer. Note to Instructors: If preparing an exam for electronic
grading, these instructions should be modified to instruct students how to fill in their
bubble sheets. For example, “Please indicate whether the following statements are true
or false by blackening the correct oval, 1 or A for True, 2 or B for False.”

21. True False Conspicuous consumption, leisure, and waste are mutually
exclusive categories. (p. 56)

22. True False Every good or material object has a hau. (p. 64)

23. True False Technological innovations have reduced the U.S. workweek. U.S.
employees work fewer hours today than their counterparts did
in the 1960s. (p. 70)

24. True False Despite technological innovation, U.S. workers work more hours
per week today than their counterparts did in the 1960s. (p.70)

4
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The Project Gutenberg eBook of Under Blanco's eye; or, Hal
Maynard among the Cuban insurgents
 This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States
and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no
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Title: Under Blanco's eye; or, Hal Maynard among the Cuban
insurgents

Author: Douglas Wells

Release date: June 23, 2022 [eBook #68379]

Language: English

Original publication: United States: Street & Smith, 1898

Credits: Demian Katz, Craig Kirkwood, and the Online Distributed

Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (Images
courtesy of the Digital Library@Villanova University.)

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK UNDER

BLANCO'S EYE; OR, HAL MAYNARD AMONG THE CUBAN
INSURGENTS ***
 Transcriber’s Notes:
The Table of Contents was created by the transcriber and placed in the public domain.
Additional Transcriber’s Notes are at the end.
 CONTENTS
First Part.
Chapter I. “The Only American in Havana.”
Chapter II. Juan Ramirez Introduces Himself.
Chapter III. “Spanish Evidence.”
Chapter IV. At the Prefatura.
Second Part.
Chapter V. “A Spaniard of Honor!”
Chapter VI. Cuba’s New Recruit.
Chapter VII. The Temptation of Pedro.
Third Part.
Chapter VIII. “As Gomez Would Speak.”
Chapter IX. Battle in Earnest.
Chapter X. Under Cuba’s Flag.
VOL. 1 NO. 1 NEW YORK, MAY 7, 1898 5 CENTS
STREET & SMITH Publishers.

STARRY FLAG WEEKLY

THRILLING STORIES OF OUR VICTORIOUS ARMY
UNDER BLANCO’S EYE
OR HAL MAYNARD AMONG
THE CUBAN INSURGENTS
 Starry Flag Weekly
Issued Weekly—By Subscription: $2.50 per year. Entered as Second Class Matter at the N. Y.
Post Office. S S , 81 Fulton St., N. Y. Entered According to Act of Congress, in the
Year 1898, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, Washington, D. C.

No. 1. NEW YORK, May 7, 1898 Price Five Cents.

Under Blanco’s Eye;

OR,

HAL MAYNARD AMONG THE CUBAN INSURGENTS

By DOUGLAS WELLS.
First Part.
 CHAPTER I.
“THE ONLY AMERICAN IN HAVANA.”

“Stop!”
A boy of some eighteen or nineteen years rushed frantically out upon a
wharf bordering the harbor of Havana.
“Hold on!”
Elbowing his way through the dark-skinned crowd, he reached the
string-piece, now waving his arms wildly.
At the top of his voice came the fervent appeal:
“Don’t leave me behind!”
Unheedful of the Spanish crowd about him, the boy gazed anxiously at
the fast receding stern of the United States steamer Fern.
That crowd was bent on mischief. It had jeered itself nearly hoarse when
the little steamer left her berth.
Now it saw in this shouting, gesticulating youth a closer victim of their
sport.
“Swim!” jeered one low-browed, dirty Spaniard.
To this came an echoing shout of:
“Make him swim!”
“Yes! Throw the Yankee dog into the harbor. He will find company in
the sailors of the Maine!”
A yell went up—a yell that was partly derisive and partly defiant.
It had one effect that the victim was quick to notice—it utterly drowned
out his appealing shouts to those on the deck of the Fern, causing him to
gasp:
“Am I the only American left behind in Havana?”
It looked like it.
Further from the pier, nearer every moment to the entrance of Havana
harbor went the Fern, the last of the United States steamers to leave
Cuba’s capital city on that memorable afternoon of the ninth of April,
1898.
Aboard the Fern was that sturdy American hero, General Fitzhugh Lee.
Up to the last moment he had served the interests of the United States
and her citizens as consul general at Havana.
Now, when the state of affairs there had become intolerable, General Lee
had sailed on the Fern.
After indomitable efforts extending over several days, he had succeeded
in shipping, as he believed, the last American in that danger-infested city.
Then, and not until then, had General Lee stepped aboard the Fern.
His coming had been the signal for the start. A moment later the little
steamer’s prow was cutting the muddy, blood-stained waters of Havana
harbor.
Close to the wreck of the United States’ once proud battleship Maine
passed the Fern.
Standing on deck, General Lee and his immediate party had bared their
heads in silent respect and grief for the two hundred and sixty-six sailors
whom Spanish treachery had destroyed.
General Lee believed that he had succeeded in bringing the last
American away.
He certainly had, so far as he knew. He had done his duty like an
American.
Yet, all unknown to him, one American remained behind—Hal Maynard,
the boy who now stood watching the receding Fern with a look of
mingled anxiety and wistfulness.
Suddenly Hal uncovered. His glance had rested on the Stars and Stripes
at the steamer’s stern.
It was a courageous thing to do—to salute the hated Yankee flag in this
stronghold of that flag’s bitterest enemies.
But Hal did it, without bluster or hesitation.
There was a choking sensation in the boy’s throat; tears glistened in his
eyes.
“My country’s flag,” he murmured brokenly. “May God always bless
your folds, and protect them! May those Stars and Stripes soon come
back here, and float a supreme warning that treachery and tyranny can
never flourish in the New World!”
It may be that some of the Spaniards grouped about him heard him. If so,
they did not understand, or it would have been worse for this American
boy.
“The senor does not like our climate!”
Jeeringly the words were uttered.
Half turning, Maynard gazed unto the speaker’s eyes.
The latter was a Spaniard, a peon or laborer. Ragged, barefooted, dirty,
he had the appearance of a man half-starved.
The fellow’s tattered sombrero rested at an angle on his head. His
gleaming, glittering eyes, made brighter by that nondescript illness, slow
starvation, had an ugly light in them.
In whatever direction Maynard turned he saw others like this fellow—
thousands of them.
Every wharf and pier, every building near the water front, every
available spot of view was crowded by Spaniards who had come out to
watch the departure of America’s consul general, and, watching, to jeer.
It was no use to gaze longer after the Fern, yet Hal Maynard found
himself unable to stir.
“If I never see the flag again, I must see it to the last to-day,” he
murmured.
“Senor does not like our climate?” again jeered the fellow at his elbow.
Hal made no answer, not even turning this time.
But his tormentor would not quit.
“Perhaps it is our people that the senor does not like? I have heard that
there were some Americans who do not love the Spanish!”
Still Hal stood with his eyes fastened on the flag.
“If the senor is a good friend of Spain,” continued the fellow, with
mocking insinuation, “he will shout, ‘viva Espana!’”
Long live Spain? Hal Maynard would have died a dozen deaths sooner
than utter such a detestable wish!
Those black, gleaming eyes were fastened on him pitilessly, until—until
the tormentor found himself ignored.
Then he swiftly turned to his fellow Spaniards.
“Here is an American!” he cried.
A laughing chorus greeted the announcement.
“He wanted to go home!”
More laughter greeted this stupid sally.
“And now,” continued the announcer, “he is crying to find himself left
here with us!”
“There is yet time for him to swim after the vessel!” jibed another
Spaniard.
“Or let him cruise home on the Maine!”
At this there was a cyclonic burst of laughter.
Instantly the other Spaniards began to cast about for sayings which the
crowd would regard as being witty.
Hal Maynard’s eyes flashed.
A fight would be helpless—hopeless, leaving him only the fate of death
at the hands of this jibing, vicious mob.
Yet no sooner was the word “Maine” uttered than he turned once more to
where the wreck of the Maine lay and lifted his hat with a motion of
reverence.
It was grit—clear grit! That much even the Spaniards could appreciate.
It was a defiance, too, and in a moment angry murmurs went up.
“Let us see if a Yankee pig can swim!”
“And if he steers toward that battered iron scow, we can shoot him from
the wharf.”
“As we will shoot all Yankees who dare to come here after this!” shouted
another.
Hal faced them, head erect and shoulders thrown back.
He fully expected to be thrown into the muddy water, but he did not
propose to flinch.
For a moment the crowd hesitated, ready to follow any caprice, but
waiting for a leader.
After waiting a moment for the attack, Hal felt a sudden thrill of
misgiving.
His hand had touched, accidentally, on something under his coat.
That recalled him to his duty, to the reason for his being in Havana, to
the cause of his being left behind.
Hidden away in his clothing was a bag. It contained two thousand
dollars, the property of another, confided to his care.
“This mob is made up of worthless fellows,” muttered the boy. “They
don’t know any better than to do as they are doing. They are so ignorant
that not one in a dozen of them would know his own name in print. They
shall not make me forget my duty. Since there is no American ship here,
I will try to find an English one.”
Then, ignoring the crowd that surged about him, he turned again to scan
the line of wharves.
Less than a quarter of a mile away lay a brig from whose masthead
floated the Union Jack of Great Britain.
“I shall be safe there,” murmured Hal. “I can leave Havana on that craft.
It may even be that the brig is bound for an American port.”
His mind made up, he turned to leave the wharf, meaning to walk along
the river front until he came to the brig’s wharf.
But his original tormentor put himself fairly in the boy’s path.
“Where is the Yankee pig going to root?” he demanded.
Other murmurs went up.
“Do not let him leave us!”
“Not until he has cried ‘viva Espana!’”
“Gentlemen,” said Hal, trying to speak calmly, “I find that I am not on
the right wharf. Will you allow me to pass?”
“Certainly, senor!”
“Way for the gentleman!”
“Let the Yankee pig find his wallow!”
Click-clack! click-clack! Way on the outskirts of the crowd a man had
picked up a cobblestone, on which he now began to whet his knife.
It was a most suggestive sound. The crowd roared with merriment,
craning their necks to see whether this Yankee blanched.
But Hal, though he knew that a spark would be sufficient to touch off a
mine of Spanish mob-treachery, retained his composure.
“I am in a hurry, if you please,” he said, trying to edge his way through.
The crowd pretended to make way, yet each Spaniard took pains to get
only more in the way.
They were playing with him, as a cat does with a mouse, enjoying their
sport with true feline ferocity.
One of the crowd suddenly divined our hero’s purpose.
“He wants to reach that English ship. The gringo fancies he will be safer
there than with us. Let us convince him that our hospitality is genuine.”
Still laughing, the crowd made way for Hal to pass off the pier, but the
instant that he tried to walk along the shore in the direction of the bridge,
he found himself confronted by the dense ranks of a barring crowd.
“No, no, senor! Straight back into Havana.”
“I guess I might as well go to a hotel,” Hal acquiesced, inwardly. “From
there, an hour later, I may be able to get a closed carriage to the brig.”
There was a driver within call. To him Hal signaled.
The jehu came up, but on hearing the name of the hotel, he shook his
head and scowled.
“No, no, senor,” he protested, “I cannot drive Yankees.”
“I will walk, then,” rejoined Hal.
But the crowd protested that he must ride.
“If the senor will pay three fares,” declared the jehu, “I will take him.”
“Very well,” muttered Hal, stepping into the carriage.
“Ha! Senor Maynard, wait! I must see you!” cried a man, making his
way through the crowd.
“Vasquez!” thrilled the boy, recognizing his accoster.
Then, for the first time that day, Hal Maynard turned pale.
 CHAPTER II.
JUAN RAMIREZ INTRODUCES HIMSELF.

Senor Vasquez, a middle-aged Spaniard with the air of a prosperous

merchant, pushed his way through to the carriage.
The crowd, scenting as if by instinct some new trouble for the boy, made
way for the newcomer.
Vasquez’s eyes glittered. He regarded the boy with a look of evil
triumph, though his manner, as he stepped into the carriage, was
faultlessly diplomatic.
“You will excuse my intrusion?” he begged.
“I shall have to,” was Hal’s cold rejoinder.
“I was anxious to see you. This meeting has given me great pleasure.”
Then, lowering his voice, he added:
“Senor Maynard, your employer owes me, as you know, two thousand
dollars. I must have that money at once.”
“If Mr. Richardson owes you anything,” replied Hal, “he will pay it.”
“Bah! Do you think I am so simple? Senor Richardson left yesterday for
Key West.”
“I repeat,” came firmly from Hal, “that, if he owes you anything he will
pay it.”
“And I, my dear young friend,” rejoined the Spaniard, “assure you that I
mean to collect from you. You have the money. I know it.”
Hal tried not to start at this cool piece of assurance.
“I know,” continued Senor Vasquez, in the same low tone, “where you
collected the money. I know just how much you collected, and can tell
you, to a peseta, just how much you carry in a certain bag. Ha! my
friend, you do not seem happy over my knowledge. But a trustworthy
man of mine has followed you. You see that there is no use denying what
my faithful agent told me.”
“But did he tell you,” smiled Hal, coolly, “where I took that bag?”
Senor Vasquez changed color and hesitated.
That was enough to show observant Hal that his “bluff” had a chance of
winning.
“If he did not tell you that,” resumed the American, “go back and cane
your agent for a sleepy fellow. Senor Vasquez, if you meant to wrest the
money from me by force, you should have employed a better agent.”
Maynard’s manner was so cool and convincing that for a moment the
Spaniard was staggered.
“Ha!” he cried, suddenly. “Whatever you have done with the money, you
have not had chance to send it out of Cuba, and your last chance to do
that is gone. Perhaps you will conclude to tell me where the money is.”
“Assuredly not,” rejoined Hal, stoutly.
“Now, if I were to make a few remarks about you to the crowd which
surges about this carriage, do you know what would happen to you?”
“Certainly,” replied Hal. “I should be in danger of being killed.”
“Do you feel like taking the risk?”
“If you were scoundrel enough, senor, I should be compelled to take it.”
Vasquez’s black eyes snapped dangerously.
“I have only to say the word,” he suggested.
Hal was playing a desperate game. The thought drove some of the color
from his cheeks.
“Will you tell me where the money is?” insisted the Spaniard.
“Suppose that I did not know, how could I tell you?”
Vasquez snorted impatiently, then beckoned to one of the leaders of the
mob, who quickly approached.
“Your last chance, Senor Maynard,” whispered the Spaniard.
“I can tell you nothing.”
As Hal uttered these words he expected to be handed over to the Spanish
mob.
To his surprise Vasquez’s manner swiftly changed.
To the ring-leader Senor Vasquez said:
“Pedro, I trust that your friends will not molest this young man. He is in
a measure under my protection.”
“Senor Vasquez’s words always carry weight,” was the quick, respectful
answer.
“My dear young friend,” went on the Spaniard, “I may see you again. If
we do meet, I trust I shall find you more gracious.”
With that the Spaniard slipped quickly from the carriage, and the driver,
taking the cue, turned up one of the streets into the city.
Jeers followed, but nothing else happened.
“Vasquez is as slick as ever,” mused Hal, sinking back on the cushion.
“At first, he thought he would frighten me. Now perhaps he means to
call upon me at the hotel, try to convince me that he saved my life, and
thus work upon my gratitude. If Senor Vasquez imagines that he can
persuade me to betray my good old employer, he will wake up and find it
all a dream!
“But first of all he will send his agents out again, to see if he can get
them on the track of the place where the money is. How my Spanish
pirate would swear if he knew that he had been within a foot of the
money all the while! Yet, because I have fooled the fellow this time, I
must not underrate him. He is deadly!”
Deadly, indeed! Vasquez, though a rich merchant, had seldom earned an
honest dollar.
He belonged to a Spanish type that has been common in Cuba. American
merchants and planters, especially those who were new to the island, had
been his especial game for years.
He sought the acquaintance of such “new” Americans, tendered them his
services and goods, and charged exorbitantly for both.
Should an American planter protest, the crop in one of his sugar or
tobacco fields was burned, nor was it long before the planter learned that
“irrepressible friends of Senor Vasquez had rebuked a grasping
foreigner.”
Should an American merchant protest at Vasquez’s charges, something
happened to the “impudent merchant’s” stores or warehouses.
Yet Vasquez himself had always kept on the safe side of the law, while
cheerfully ruining Americans.
They were simply compelled to submit to his extortions. One American,
a planter, who had resolutely resisted the Spaniard, had been found dead,
but the crime could be fastened on no one.
Just before the outbreak of the Cuban rebellion, Henry Richardson had
started sugar plantations in the interior. He had fallen into Vasquez’s
hands at the outset, and had been systematically plundered.
Hal Maynard, who had come to Cuba a year before as Mr. Richardson’s
private secretary, had detected the Spaniard in several doubtful dealings.
Naturally Vasquez’s feeling for our hero was far from cordial.
While Hal and his employer were still in the interior, Vasquez had tried
to involve them in trouble with the Spanish authorities.
This menace Mr. Richardson had dodged by paying a liberal bribe to the
officer commanding the nearest garrison.
Nevertheless, more dangers threatened these two Americans.
Then Consul General Lee’s call had come for Americans to leave Cuba.
Mr. Richardson had gone the day before. Hal had lingered long enough
to collect two thousand dollars due his employer. This accomplished, he
had traveled hastily to Havana, meaning to leave there on the historic
ninth of April. We have seen how he had reached there too late.
The money that Vasquez claimed as his due was the balance of an
exorbitant bill. He had already been paid far more than he was entitled
to.
But he had hoped to overtake and intimidate the American boy.
The carriage drew up before the hotel door, which appeared deserted as,
indeed, it was, for with money and food both scarce in Havana, the
hotels stand but a poor show of patronage.
“Your three fares, peon,” said Hal, dropping a few coins in the driver’s
hand.
“Four pesetas more,” insisted the driver.
Hal paid it, without protest, and disappeared inside. He was quickly
shown to a room, and requested that his trunk be sent up.
“Although I ordered that sent here from the interior,” he smiled, as he
bent over the box, “I expected to leave it behind.”
Unlocking the lid, he examined the articles in the trunk for some
moments, until a warning “Ss-sst!” reached his ear.
Rising quickly, Hal saw from whence the signal had come.
In the aperture made by an open skylight overhead appeared the head of
a dark-skinned young man.
His bright, restless eyes took in everything in the room, our hero
included.
“You are an American?” he asked, as Hal stepped under the skylight.
“Yes.”
“Then I am your friend. But have you an enemy?”
“I—I fear I have.”
“Look out of the window toward the harbor. Then come back.”
Hal quickly obeyed, returning with a perturbed face.
“You saw Senor Vasquez approaching, with two officers and a squad of
soldiers?”
“Just that!” affirmed Hal.
“The officers have a pretense, but Vasquez will really seek your money.
If you have it not with you, or know a safe hiding place, you will fool
him, but if the money is in your possession, it will surely be taken from
you.”
Hal hesitated, regarding the speaker with a look full of penetration.
What he saw was the frank, pleasing face of a youth of eighteen.
Somehow, Hal’s heart went out to the stranger.
“If,” said the other, “you have the money, and wish to save it, you can
trust it with me, senor.”
“What could you do with it?” projected Hal.
“Drop it into one of my pockets,” added the other, adding with a laugh:
“No one would search such a thin, ragged Cuban as I for the possession
of so much money. But think quickly, senor, for Vasquez will be here in
another moment. Juan Ramirez is my name.”
“A Cuban?” asked Hal.
“See!” And Juan drew from a pocket what could easily become his
death-warrant—a small Cuban flag.
This he kissed with a simple, unaffected air of devotion.
“By Jove, I’ll trust you,” murmured Hal. “I’ve yet to meet a Cuban
thief!”
R-rip! In a second he began to unbutton his clothing, bringing out to
view from under his shirt a long, thin bag.
“This contains two thousand dollars,” he whispered.
“And if anything happens to you, to whom does the money belong?”
“Henry Richardson, at Key West.”
“He shall have it,” promised the Cuban. “Hush! There are steps on the
stairs.”
Like a flash, Ramirez vanished.
“Have I been duped?” wondered Hal, with a quick thrill of apprehension.
Ramirez had looked like a fellow to be trusted. Yet, if Hal had kept the
money about him, it would soon pass into the hands of Vasquez, who
would be able to persuade the Spanish judges that his claim was just.
“If Ramirez has stolen it,” quivered Hal, “all I can say is that I’d sooner
see him get it than Vasquez.”
Tramp! tramp! tramp! Reaching the head of the stairs, the soldiers were
now marching straight for his door.
Whack! thump! The door was thrown unceremoniously open, and the
uniforms of Spain filled the room.
 CHAPTER III.
“SPANISH EVIDENCE.”

“This is the young man?”

One of the two officers who appeared at the head of a file of a dozen
soldiers turned and put the question to Senor Vasquez.
That consummate liar responded by a nod of the head.
Though Hal Maynard had not studied his attitude, he stood at that
moment a typical young American.
With feet rather spread, his hands thrust into his trousers pockets,
shoulders manfully back and head inclining slightly forward, he ignored
Vasquez, but regarded the officers with a rather indolent look in which
there was just a trace of curiosity.
“A visitation, I presume?” he said, addressing one of the officers in
Spanish.
But the latter, barely looking at him, turned to the other officer to
command:
“Search the trunk.”
“It is locked,” said Hal, stepping slowly forward. “Permit me to offer
you the key.”
The officer who received it merely grunted, and immediately knelt
before the trunk.
Hal stood by looking on, until one of the soldiers, after scowling at him
an instant, darted forward and gave the boy a push.
“If I am in your way,” retorted Maynard, recovering his equilibrium,
“won’t you be kind enough to say so?”
“Silence!” ordered the commanding officer.
Hal responded by a polite nod.
“These officers don’t belong to the mob, and they should be gentlemen,”
he murmured. “If they’re not, it’s not for me to set them the example.”
Flop! went a lot of Hal’s clothing, strewed promiscuously over the floor.
Slap! followed his linen.
Smash! went a small hand mirror, flung across the room so that it struck
the wall and landed on the floor in atoms.
“May I ask a question, sir?” queried Hal, turning to the officer in charge.
“Silence!”
“I beg your pardon,” went on Hal, imperturbably. “All I wanted to ask
was whether my property is to be ruthlessly destroyed before a charge
has been even made against me?”
“Silence!”
“If I had committed any breach of decorum in asking,” pursued Hal,
calmly, “please consider that I didn’t ask.”
“Silence!”
Thump! The butt of a soldier’s musket landed forcibly in Hal’s stomach.
“Ouch!” grunted the boy.
“Silence!”
“Not even allowed to express natural emotion,” murmured our hero. He
couldn’t have talked much in his breathless condition, just then, even if
he wanted to.
He saw the soldier’s musket-butt aimed at him, and dodged as nimbly as
he could.
Click!
Another soldier cocked his weapon, aiming fully at the American’s head.
At this the commanding officer smiled. Some of the soldiers laughed
softly. They wanted to see the Yankee flinch, and were sure that he
would—for had not their Havana newspapers told them that all the
Yankees were cowards?
But Hal, who felt reasonably sure that nothing short of violence on his
part would result in his death just then, did not feel inwardly alarmed.
Instead, he slowly folded his arms, closed one eye, and with the other
squinted down the steel barrel that stared him in the face.
“Bah!” muttered he who had aimed, now raising the muzzle of his piece.
“The Yankee pig doesn’t even know what a gun is.”
“Silence!” came sharply from the commanding officer.
“Well,” murmured Hal, under his voice, “I am gratified to learn that
somebody else besides myself has to hold his tongue. I wouldn’t like to
do all the shutting-up!”
It was all a picnic, so he fancied, since he was not only sure that the
officers would find nothing compromising, but also sure that, whoever
got the money, Senor Vasquez would not.
But the Spaniard, who had been narrowly watching the boy, now
interposed:
“Captain, may a civilian subject suggest that the accused has not yet
been searched?”
“Senor,” replied the captain, bowing slightly, “your loyal suggestion
shall be at once acted upon. I myself will make the search.”
Thereupon the captain waved the soldiers away, most of them
withdrawing to the corridor and doorway.
“Stand beside the accused,” ordered the captain, nodding at two of his
men, who accordingly ranged themselves on either side of the American.
“Senor,” said the captain, coldly, “you will understand that what I am
about to do is a duty imposed upon me.”
There was a trace of civility about this, which caused Hal to reply
politely:
“If it is your duty, captain, I would be the last one to urge you from it.
But I can tell you what I have about me. I have a pocket knife and a sum
of money.”
“Money?” uttered Vasquez, becoming alert at once. “It is mine—mine by
right!”
“You are mistaken,” replied Hal, coldly; “but if you need it you may
have it. I have only three pesetas.”
“Three pesetas?” faltered the Spanish merchant. He looked as angry as a
man who is being robbed, for three pesetas is but about sixty cents.
“You may have it,” rejoined Hal, with mock generosity, “if the officer
permits me to present it to you.”
Then he threw his hands up while the captain went through his pockets.
That officer looked a trifle ashamed of his task, for an army officer is a
gentleman, at least by education.
But Hal’s pockets, under the most rigid search, showed no more than he
had mentioned.
“Off with your clothes, senor,” came the next command.
Hal looked and felt a trifle surprised, but saw that the order was a serious
one.
“Shall I er—er—withdraw to the closet before disrobing?” he suggested.
“Naturally not,” was the dry answer.
There was no help for it. Hal had to obey, which he did with the poorest
grace in the world.
But he passed through this ordeal like the others without mishap, and
was curtly informed that he could put on his clothing again.
This Hal did, next standing at ease between the two soldiers.
“Do you find anything?” asked the captain, turning to his subordinate.
“Nothing,” replied the lieutenant.
“A mare’s nest, eh?” smiled the captain, grimly.
Hal duplicated the smile, but in a more genial manner, then turned to
look at Vasquez.
But that Spaniard suddenly darted over to the trunk, knelt beside the
lieutenant, and began to help rummage among the few remaining articles
there.
“Ha! Here is something,” announced Vasquez, holding up a slip of paper.
Hal looked on, wide-eyed, for he knew well that no such paper had been
among his possessions when he packed them.
Then he gave a gasp, for he realized the Spaniard’s game at last. That
scoundrel, by some clever legerdemain, had slipped a paper among
Maynard’s effects.
“Ho!” grunted the Spaniard, running his eyes over the page. “This is a
note, apparently, from one of the comrades of that bandit chief, Gomez.”
He finished reading, while the captain stood looking calmly on.
“An American plotter!” screamed Vasquez. “This is proof conclusive
enough to merit for him a dozen deaths if that were possible!”
He held the page in one hand, pointing a denouncing finger at our
startled hero.
“Let me see it,” commanded the captain. “A letter relating to a
filibustering expedition, eh? This is, indeed, evidence. So!” turning to
Maynard. “You are one of the Yankees who help his majesty’s subjects to
rebel.”
“Upon my honor,” protested Hal, “I know nothing about that letter.”
“Your honor?” cried the captain. “Bah, you Yankee pig! Lieutenant,
bring him along under guard. To the Prefatura.”
To the Prefatura! To Havana’s police headquarters? Over the door of that
grim building might well be written, “All hope abandon, ye who enter
here!”
It was at the door of this building that all trace had been lost of countless
Cuban insurgents, the members of their families, and of others who had
in any way been suspected of sympathy with the cause of the rebels.
From here, in the late hours of night, countless doomed ones had been
led away, ostensibly to imprisonment in Morro Castle or Cabanas
Fortress—with this horrible peculiarity, that they had never reached their
destinations or been heard from again!
To the Prefatura! For an instant, contemplating the letter which the
captain now held in his hand, Hal felt his heart sinking utterly.
“I was sure I could not be mistaken,” murmured Senor Vasquez, softly.
That voice aroused the American as the bite of a snake would have done.
“Senor Vasquez,” he cried, throwing his head back proudly, “we have not
seen the end of this matter!”
Then, bowing to the captain, Hal stepped between the two files of
soldiers as they formed.
Down the stairs they started. Vasquez brought up the rear, gnashing his
teeth.
He had found no trace of the money.
But perhaps he yet hoped to!
 CHAPTER IV.
AT THE PREFATURA.

Hal marched through the main entrance to the Prefatura.

His bearing was as proud as ever.
He could not have shown more fortitude had he felt that the whole honor
of Old Glory was resting on his youthful shoulders.
He had marched for more than two miles through the streets, his military
escort taking a roundabout course, as if they enjoyed displaying this
dangerous captive to the excited populace.
He had been jeered at, jibed at, made the butt of hundreds of coarse
jokes.
At last he had reached the Prefatura. Senor Vasquez still brought up the
rear. He carried himself with the air of one who wishes it understood that
he has done his duty by his country.
In the corridor of the Prefatura Hal’s escort halted until it could be
learned before which official the prisoner was to be taken.
In the same corridor were other prisoners, each under guard.
There was only this difference: Hal Maynard was erect, rosy, healthy-
looking. The other poor wretches, most of whom were women, were
plainly Cubans.
Their invariably starved appearance showed them to be reconcentrados
—people from the interior who had been driven in by General Weyler’s
infamous order, and then left to starve.
There was little, if any, acute terror in their fates. They had suffered so
much, had witnessed so many atrocities, that they were indifferent to
what was yet to come.
Paris, during the Reign of Terror, was not such a city of horrors as
Havana has lately been!
Captain Tamiva, Hal’s chief captor, still bearing the letter “found” in the
boy’s trunk, disappeared into one of the numerous offices opening upon
the corridor.
He soon came back, ordering the soldiers to take their prisoner in.
Hal found himself arraigned before a stern-looking, elderly Spaniard.
Before the latter, on his desk, lay the accusing letter.
He looked up quickly, this official, shot a penetrating look into the boy’s
face, and snarled out:
“So you are another of the Yankee pigs who root with our Cuban
sucklings!”
“I am an American citizen, certainly,” replied Hal.
“And a sympathizer, as I said.”
“I have never held communication with the insurgents.”
“But this letter?”
“I know nothing about it.”
“It was found in your trunk.”
“Though never placed there by me.”
“Bah! Of what avail is lying? Do you think you are talking to some of
your own stupid Yankees? Confess!”
“How can I,” retorted Hal, “when there is nothing to confess?”
The official scowled, snorting impatiently:
“Time is valuable. We have too many cases like yours to attend to. The
island is full of treason. Instantly tell me all you know about this letter,
and the plans at which it hints, or take the consequences.”
“There is nothing that I can tell you,” rejoined Hal, earnestly.
“Then take the consequences!”
“I shall have to, since I can’t run away from them.”
“Very well. Then this is the disposition of your case: At ten to-night you
shall be rowed across the harbor to Morro Castle. Once in a dungeon
there you will be out of my jurisdiction, and thenceforth under the eye of
General Blanco.”
All the while Senor Vasquez had stood by looking silently on with his
eager, burning eyes.