of the Golden Gate was nodding over
the great porcelain handles of his beer pumps like a switchman in his
tower.

"Good morning," said Angus Jones. "I see you have no billiard marker.
'Tis a great pity, but soon mended."

The proprietor rolled out with a formidable roar, rubbing his eyes.

"_Pedro, my glasses!_ Billiar'? On the minute, mos' honorable sir. How
stupid am I that a ship should be in and I catched in a sleeping! We
have a ver' fine table of billiar', French or English, if you please
should look. _Pedro, my glasses!_ Is it a Castle Liner you arrive by,
mos' honorable? Will you have beer or wheesky-sod'?" He bobbed and
leered, blind as an owl. I might have warned Angus Jones, but I did not.
I only stood where I had a clear space to the door.

"All in good time," said Angus Jones. "I speak of a marker. In
billiards, if you mark me, the marking is a proper art. Now, there I
meet you as an expert. Give me charge of your billiard room, and I'll
double your business."

"Billiar'? Yes, yes; only wait.... Pedro!"

Pedro appeared as from a trap, with a pair of spectacles.

"Do I get the job?" asked Angus Jones.

"Jobe!" exclaimed the proprietor. "What jobe?" He put on his glasses and
eyed the applicant up and down. "Ah-h-h! You wish--? ... What is here?"
he bellowed, and fell back on his bar.

"I seek a place as billiard marker," said Angus Jones.

"_Sagrada Familia!_ Pig spy of a monarchist!"

The Portuguese equivalent of bungstarter whiffed Angus Jones by an
eyelash. The rafters shook. We had a start to the door, and needed it.
Jones cleared the sill with the aid of a ponderous foot. In the driving
hail of oaths and beer mugs we tore across the Praca. A little soldier
in blue linen started up from, somewhere. Two others ran out of a
doorway. A crippled beggar threw his crutch at us with a curse.
Loungers, ragamuffins, street cars, joined the chase with clamorous glee
as we turned up an alley. All Funchal joined in the chorus behind us.

"_Va-se'mbora! Va-se'mbora_!"

And so consigned we fled at last to safety among suburban gardens and
burst panting through a cane brake.

I said nothing to Angus Jones. Comment was too obvious. Angus Jones said
nothing to me. Comment was inadequate. But I made such amends as lay
with me. At a little change house by the sugar fields I spent my one
coin for a bottle of wine. The wink and gasp of Angus Jones as that
flagrant vintage seared his throat ended the gentle ja