Scotch shivered.
“What can I do with you?” he cried, in despair.
“Take me to see the bull fights,” smiled Frank, in a jolly way.
“But it is a terrible and degrading spectacle—something that should not be tolerated in a civilized country.”
“Remember that we have prize fights in the United States.”
“I do not countenance prize fights, but bull fights are worse.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that. There are various opinions on that point.”
“And you boys are liable to get into trouble there. You know how you got into trouble, Frank, because you insisted that the United States could wipe Spain off the face of the earth. That scar-faced fellow wanted to murder you.”
“He might have done it, too, b’gosh! ef Frank hadn’t knocked the stuffin’ aout uv him with that round-shoulder blow uv his,” put in the boy from Vermont.
“His friends followed us to the hotel,” said Professor Scotch. “They will be watching for us, and the best thing we can do is to get out of Madrid and Spain as soon as possible.”