Frank was fascinated by him at once.

He had been a planter in Cuba and still owned a big ranch there and could tell him tales of Cuban life--rebellions, ambuscades, hand-to-hand fighting with machetes on his own plantation, and things of that sort.

He brought with him a collection of Indian curies, to say nothing of an independent fortune and several slaves--one, named Manuel, a tall, raw-boned black, was his constant attendant, a bodyservant, as it were.

He shipped raw sugar from his plantation in boat-loads to the Southwark wharves in Philadelphia.

Frank liked him because he took life in a hearty, jovial way, rather rough and offhand for this somewhat quiet and reserved household.
"Why, Nancy Arabella," he said to Mrs Cowperwood on arriving one Sunday afternoon, and throwing the household into joyous astonishment at his unexpected and unheralded appearance, "you haven't grown an inch! I thought when you married old brother Hy here that you were going to fatten up like your brother.