WE remained three days in the Capa Blanca Islands.
There were two reasons why we stayed there so long when we were really
in such a hurry to get away. One was the shortage in our provisions
caused by the able seaman’s enormous appetite. When we came to go over
the stores and make a list, we found that he had eaten a whole lot of
other things besides the beef. And having no money, we were sorely
puzzled how to buy more. The Doctor went through his trunk to see if
there was anything he could sell. But the only thing he could find
was an old watch with the hands broken and the back dented in; and we
decided this would not bring us in enough money to buy much more than a
pound of tea. Bumpo suggested that he sing comic songs in the streets
which he had learned in Jolliginki. But the Doctor said he did not
think that the islanders would care for African music.
The other thing that kept us was the bullfight. In these islands, which
belonged to Spain, they had bullfights every Sunday. It was on a Friday
that we arrived there; and after we had got rid of the able seaman we
took a walk through the town.
It was a very funny little town, quite different from any that I had
ever seen. The streets were all twisty and winding and so narrow that a
wagon could only just pass along them. The houses over-hung at the top
and came so close together that people in the attics could lean out of
the windows and shake hands with their neighbors on the opposite side
of the street. The Doctor told us the town was very, very old. It was
called Monteverde.
As we had no money of course we did not go to a hotel or anything like
that. But on the second evening when we were passing by a bed-maker’s
shop we noticed several beds, which the man had made, standing on
the pavement outside. The Doctor started chatting in Spanish to the
bed-maker who was sitting at his door whistling to a parrot in a cage.
The Doctor and the bed-maker got very friendly talking about birds and
things. And as it grew near to supper-time the man asked us to stop and
sup with him.
This of course we were very glad to do. And after the meal was over
(very nice dishes they were, mostly cooked in olive-oil—I particularly
liked the fried bananas) we sat outside on the pavement again and went
on talking far into the night.
At last when we got up to go back to our ship, this very nice
shopkeeper wouldn’t hear of our going away on any account. He said the
streets down by the harbor were very badly lighted and there was no
moon. We would surely get lost. He invited us to spend the night with
him and go back to our ship in the morning.
Well, we finally agreed; and as our good friend had no spare bedrooms,
the three of us, the Doctor, Bumpo and I, slept on the beds set out for
sale on the pavement before the shop. The night was so hot we needed
no coverings. It was great fun to fall asleep out of doors like this,
watching the people walking to and fro and the gay life of the streets.
It seemed to me that Spanish people never went to bed at all. Late as
it was, all the little restaurants and cafés around us were wide open,
with customers drinking coffee and chatting merrily at the small tables
outside. The sound of a guitar strumming softly in the distance mingled
with the clatter of chinaware and the babble of voices.
Somehow it made me think of my mother and father far away in Puddleby,
with their regular habits, the evening practise on the flute and the
rest—doing the same thing every day. I felt sort of sorry for them in
a way, because they missed the fun of this traveling life, where we
were doing something new all the time—even sleeping differently. But
I suppose if they had been invited to go to bed on a pavement in front
of a shop they wouldn’t have cared for the idea at all. It is funny how
some people are.
[Illustration: “The Doctor started chatting in Spanish to the
bed-maker”]
_THE SEVENTH CHAPTER_