rolling walk as though he were accustomed to traverse long distances on foot, paused at each table, with a little smile mentioned the numbers he had for sale and then when no notice was taken of him with the same smile passed on i think he was for the most part a trif le the worse for liquor I was standing at the bar one evening my foot on the rail, with an acquaint nce they make a very good dry martini at the palace Hotel in guatema la City -when the man with the scar came up. I shook my head as for the twentieth time since my arrival he held out for inspection his lottery tickets. But my companion nodded aff ably Que ta/, genera/? How is life? Not so bad. Business is none too good, but it might be worse hat will you have, general? A brandy He tossed it down and put the glass back on the bar. He nodded to my acquaintance. Gracias Hasta luego Then he turned away and offered tickets to the men who were standing next to Who is your friend? ' I asked. That's a terrif ic scar on his face. It doesnt add to his beauty does it? He's an exile from Nicaragua. He's a ruff ian of course and a bandit but not a bad fellow. i give him a few pesos now and then He was a revolutionary general and if his ammun ition hadnt given out hed have upset the government and be minister of war now instead of selling lottery tickets in Guatema la. They captured him along with his staff, such as it was, and tried him by court-martial. Such things are rather summary in those countries you know, and he was sentenced to be shot at dawn. i guess he knew what was coming to him when he was caught. He spent the night in gaol and he and the others, there were five of them altogether, passed the time play ing poker. They used matches for chips. He told me he'd of bad luck in his life When day broke and the soldiers came into the cell to fetch them for execution he had lost more matches than a reasonable man could use in a life time They were led into the patio of the gaol and placed aga inst a wall, the five of them side by side, with the f iring party facing them there was a pause and our friend asked the officer in charge of them what the devil they were keeping him aiting for. The off icer said that the general command ing the government troops ished to attend the execution and they awaited his arrival Then I have time to smoke another cigarette said our friend. He was alway unpunctual But he had barely lit it when the general it was san Ignacio, by the way: I dont know whether you ever met him -followed by his A D. C. came into the patio. the usual formalities were performed and san Ignacio asked the condemned men whether there was anything they wished before the execution took place. Four of the five shook their heads but our friend spoke Yes, I should like to say goodbye to my wif e. Bueno, said the general, " I have no objection to that. Where is she?4 rolling walk as though he were accustomed to traverse long distances on foot, paused at each table, with a little smile mentioned the numbers he had for sale and then, when no notice was taken of him, with the same smile passed on. I think he was for the most part a trifle the worse for liquor. I was standing at the bar one evening, my foot on the rail, with an acquaintance – they make a very good dry martini at the Palace Hotel in Guatemala City - when the man with the scar came up. I shook my head as for the twentieth time since my arrival he held out for inspection his lottery tickets. But my companion nodded af fably. ‘Qué tal, general? How is life?’ ‘Not so bad. Business is none too good, but it might be worse.’ ‘What will you have, general?’ ‘A brandy.’ He tossed it down and put the glass back on the bar. He nodded to my acquaintance. ‘Gracias. Hasta Luego.’ Then he turned away and offered tickets to the men who were standing next to us. ‘Who is your f riend?’ I asked. ‘That’s a terrific scar on his face.’ ‘It doesn’t add to his beauty, does it? He’s an exile f rom Nicaragua. He’s a ruffian of course and a bandit, but not a bad fellow. I give him a few pesos now and then. He was a revolutionary general and if his ammunition hadn’t given out he’d have upset the government and be minister of war now instead of selling lottery tickets in Guatemala. They captured him, along with his staff, such as it was, and tried him by court-martial. Such things are rather summary in those countries, you know, and he was sentenced to be shot at dawn. I guess he knew what was coming to him when he was caught. He spent the night in gaol and he and the others, there were five of them altogether, passed the time playing poker. They used matches for chips. He told me he’d never had such a run of bad luck in his life. When day broke and the soldiers came into the cell to fetch them for execution he had lost more matches than a reasonable man could use in a life time. They were led into the patio of the gaol and placed against a wall, the five of them side by side, with the firing party facing them. There was a pause and our friend asked the of ficer in charge of them what the devil they were keeping him waiting for. The officer said that the general commanding the government troops wished to attend the execution and they awaited his arrival. “Then I have time to smoke another cigarette,” said our friend. “He was always unpunctual.” But he had barely lit it when the general – it was San Ignacio, by the way: I don’t know whether you ever met him – followed by his A.D.C. came into the patio. The usual formalities were performed and San Ignacio asked the condemned men whether there was anything they wished before the execution took place. Four of the five shook their heads, but our f riend spoke. “Yes, I should like to say goodbye to my wife.” “Bueno,” said the general, “I have no objection to that. Where is she?