"O.K. Order some for me, too." Hall hissed for the waiter.
"What's the idea of razzing the guy?"
"Relax, that's the way you call a waiter."
Jerry smiled at the waiter when he reached their table. With a childish directness, she pointed first at Hall and then to herself. "Jamón y huevos," she said.
"That is all the Spanish the señorita speaks," Hall explained. "I think we will have toast and coffee, too."
"Well, well," the waiter said in accented English. "The lady speaks good, no?"
"No," Jerry laughed.
"Well, well," the waiter said, "today is very nice and sunny. Very nice." He walked into the kitchen.
"I have a perfect itinerary," Hall said. "Old San Hermano first; that's the historic colonial part of the city. Then, at noon, we take the funicular railway to the top of the world for lunch. And after that—well, well, well, as the waiter said."
They walked about San Hermano all morning. Hall showed her through the old fortress of the Duke of La Runa, which the government had restored after Segura was overthrown, told her about the early colonial history of the city. They sat on the old sea wall for a few minutes, while Hall pointed out the Moorish and Spanish details of the stone houses along the sea drive above the wharves. The youngest of the houses was a century old; the tile friezes along their bellies had all been imported from Spain in sailing ships. Jerry watched the sun do magic tricks of blue and purple on the surface of the houses. They wandered through the old market places, deserted that day, but colored by the little stalls along the sidewalks. Hall bought a large spray of gardenias for the girl from an itinerant vendor.