There was a long talk. Professor Scotch wanted Frank to go direct to London. But the youth was stubborn and said he would not go until he had visited Madrid.
So the following day saw them on their way to the principal city of Spain.
Arriving at Madrid they put up at a first-class hotel fronting the main square of the city.
Then Frank went sight-seeing in earnest, along with Ephraim and the professor, and thus the days slipped by pleasantly enough.
The horrible happenings at Paris were forgotten, and Frank enjoyed himself immensely.
The same, however, cannot be said of the professor.
To tell the truth, the Spaniards were still sore over the way their country had been treated by the United States during the trouble in Cuba, and it was only by pretending to be Englishmen that they passed in many public places without getting into trouble.
One day they got into something of a warm row in the streets and the professor rushed back to the hotel full of excitement and alarm. When the boys followed they found him walking up and down one of their rooms in great nervousness.
“I won’t stand it!” said Professor Scotch. “No, I won’t stand it. Why, we may all be murdered!”
“Come off, professor!” cried Frank, disdainfully. “That the Spanish are hot-blooded and quick-tempered I will admit, but I do not believe they would deliberately murder us, even if they knew we were Americans. Some of the more excitable might mob us, but I do not fancy they would go any further.”