"I'm no mambi. But your name is poison to half the Spaniards in Havana.
That you know. And if you were once safe in Cayo Hueso, 'tis nobody but
a born fool who would come blunderin' into Havana again. Have ye had
your dinner?"
"What have you got?" he asked before committing himself.
She arose and spoke without confidence as she moved toward the
cupboard. "There's some codfish salad."
"_What?_" said he.
"Codfish salad."
"_Codfish what?_"
"Codfish salad. Ain't it good enough for ye? Maybe this is
Delmonico's--no? Maybe ye never heard that the Yankees have us
blockaded, hey? Maybe ye think food can be picked in the streets here
now, hey? I'll tell ye one thing, my son, if you stay here long you'll
see the want of it and so you had best not throw it over your
shoulder."
The spy settled determinedly in his chair and delivered himself his
final decision. "That may all be true, but I'm _damned_ if I eat
codfish salad."