because the language was unfamiliar to him
yet he could both understand and speak it. "What's so funny?" he asked.
"Why's everyone laughing?"

The old man's hand slapped his back and the mouth parted to show ugly
blackened teeth and the old man laughed so hard spittle spotted his
beard. "As if you didn't know," he managed to say. "As if you didn't
know, Martin Pinzon. It's that weak-minded sailor again, the one who
claims to have a charter for three caravels from the Queen herself.
Drunk as Bacchus and there's his pretty little daughter trying to get
him to come home again. I tell you, Martin Pinzon, if he isn't ..."

* * * * *

But now Danny wasn't listening. He looked around the tavern until he saw
the butt of all the laughter. Slowly, drawn irresistibly, Martin
Pinzon--or Danny Jones--got up and walked over there.

The man was drunk as Bacchus, all right. He was a man perhaps somewhat
taller than average. He had a large head with an arrogant beak of a nose
dominating the face, but the mouth was weak and irresolute. He stared
drunkenly at a beautiful girl who could not have been more than
seventeen.

The girl was saying, "Please, papa. Come back to the hotel with me.
Papa, don't you realize you're sailing tomorrow?"

"Gowananlemebe," the man mumbled.

"Papa. Please. The Queen's charter--"

"I was drunk when I took it and drunk when I examined those three
stinking caravels and--" he leaned forward as if to speak in deepest
confidence, but his drunken voice was still very loud--"and drunk when I
said the world was round. I--"

"You hear that?" someone cried. "Old Chris was drunk when he said the
world was round!"

"He must a' been!" someone else shouted. Everyone laughed.

"Come on, papa," the girl pleaded. She wore a shawl over her dress and
another shawl on her head. Her blonde hair barely peeked out, and she
was beautiful. She tried to drag her father to his feet by one arm, but
he was too heavy for her.

She looked around the room defiantly as the laughter surged again.
"Brave men!" she mocked. "A bunch of stay-at-homes. Won't somebody help
me? Papa sails tomorrow."

"Papa sails tomorrow," said someone, miming her desperate tones. "Didn't
you know that papa sails tomorrow?"

"Not sailing anyplace at all," the father mumbled. "World isn't round.
Drunk. Think I want to fall over the edge? Think I--"

"Oh, papa," moaned the girl. "Won't someone help me to--" And she tug