ide him; and a
strange fellow whose Spanish was imperfect.

I sat down near the friars, crossed myself, and cut a piece of
bread from the loaf before me. The innkeeper and his wife, a gaunt,
extraordinarily tall woman, served, running from table to table. The
place was all heat and noise. Presently the soldiers, ending their meal,
got up with clamor and surged from the court to their waiting horses.
After them ran the innkeeper, appealing for pay. Denials, expostulation,
anger and beseeching reached the ears of the patio, then the sound
of horses going down stony ways. "O God of the poor!" cried the gaunt
woman. "How are we robbed!"

"Why are they not before Granada?" demanded the lawyer and alertly
provided the answer to his own question. "Take locusts and give them
leave to eat, being careful to say, 'This fellow's fields only!' But the
locusts have wings and their nature is to eat!"

The mountain robbers, if robbers they were, dined quietly, the gaunt
woman promptly and painstakingly serving them. They were going to pay, I
was sure, though it might not be this noon.

The two friars seemed, quiet, simple men, dining as dumbly as if
they sat in Saint Francis's refectory. The sometime alcalde and the
shipmaster were the talkers, the student sitting as though he were in
the desert, eating bread and cheese and onions and looking on his book.
The lawyer watched all, talked to make them talk, then came in and
settled matters. The alcalde was the politician, knowing the affairs
of the world and speaking familiarly of the King and the Queen and the
Marquis of Cadiz.

The shipmaster said, "This time last year I was in London, and I saw
their King. His name is Henry. King Henry the Seventh, and a good
carrier of his kingship!"

"That for him!" said the alcalde. "Let him stay in his foggy island! But
Spain is too small for King Ferdinand." "All kings find their lands too
small," said the lawyer.

The shipmaster spoke again. "The King of Portugal's ship sails ahead of
ours in that matter. He's stuck his banner in the new islands, Maderia
and the Hawk Islands and where not! I was talking in Cadiz with one who
was with Bartholomew Diaz when he turned Africa and named it Good Hope.
Which is to say, King John has Good Hope of seeing Portugal swell.
Portugal! Well, I say, 'Why not Spain'?"

The student looked up from his book. "It is a great Age!" he said and
returned to his reading.

When we had finished dinner, we paid t