IT was early next morning when Appleby and Harper sat at breakfast on
the veranda. The white wall across the patio already shone dazzlingly
against a strip of intense blue, and a patch of brightness grew broader
across the veranda, but it was pleasantly cool as yet. From beyond the
flat roof there rose the rasping thud of machetes swinging amidst the
cane and the musical clink of hoes, with the dull rumble of the crushing
machinery as an undertone.
Appleby had apparently not slept very well, for there was weariness in
his face, and he lay a trifle more limply than usual in his chair, with
a morsel of bread and a very little cup of bitter black coffee in front
of him, for in Spanish countries the regular breakfast is served later
in the morning. Harper seemed to notice the absence of the major-domo.
"Bread and coffee! Well, when he can't get anything else one can live on
them, but if Pancho had been around he'd have found us something more,"
he said. "Their two meals a day never quite suited me. We have steak and
potatoes three times in my country."
"I have seen you comparatively thankful to get one," said Appleby. "I'm
not sure that we will even have bread and coffee to fall upon in another
day or two."