VIII
At 7.49 p.m., having recovered the last vestiges of my Anglo-Saxon energy, I drove with Eustace to the house, and bade the family farewell. The girls appeared a trifle distressed, but not so much as we felt they ought to be. The family knew intuitively that we were fleeing, but with true Mexican politeness they accepted our explanations as though they believed.
At 7.52, we leaped back into the cab and ordered the cochero to drive like fury.
At 7.56, we passed the plaza, but paused not in the interests of journalism.
At 8.00, we sailed out of Mazatlán’s attractive harbor, where the moonlight sparkled along the wide expanse of sea, and the tinkle of a guitar came to us from the thatched cottages of the fisher-folk, as though it were an accompaniment to the chimes of the old cathedral clock that we knew so well. Eight o’clock! Herminia and Lolita would be strolling in the plaza, where the strains of the band, as though from an orchestra off-stage, blended with the ripple of the fountain, with the voices of youths and maidens and the whispering of the palm trees!
At 8.01, Eustace discovered three peanuts in his pocket, and we solemnly dumped them overboard.