The front entrance is broad, and a tiled floor runs straight through the house.

Two stairways, one on either side, lead to the second story, the first steps of stone.

In the distance beyond, a court could be seen, a passable conservatory--but bottles on a table with a counter in front declared that this was a barroom, as it was.

The next thing further was a place where washing was done, then came empty rooms that might be shops; after this a narrow and untidy street, and then a livery stable--a sort of monopolistic cab stand, where a few ponies and carriages were to be found--but no one understood or did anything as long as possible, except to say that all the rigs were engaged now and always.

However, a little violent English language, mixed with Spanish, would arouse emotion and excite commotion eventuating in a pony in harness, and a gig or carriage, and a desperate driver, expert with a villainous whip used without occasion or remorse.
The cool place was at the front door, on the sidewalk, seated on a hard chair, for there was always a breeze.