“I could not help it if I kept my ears open. Look, professor,” directed Frank, at the open window, where he could gaze into the square; “already the people are moving toward the circus. The living tide is setting in that direction. There will be thousands ahead of us.”
“But you have the seats,” fluttered the little man. “You have bought them and paid for them. They can’t take them from us.”
Frank repressed a smile of satisfaction, for he saw the professor was giving in.
“No, they cannot take them from us; but it will be all the more comfortable for us if we go early.”
The professor looked from the window. In truth, the tide of human beings was setting in a certain direction, and all Madrid was gayly bedecked. Men and women wore bright colors. They were calling to each other merrily, like a lot of children starting out for a frolic. The great fountain in the square was splashing, and the sun was shining its brightest. It was alluring, and Professor Scotch felt the desire to join the throng growing on him.
The wide sidewalks were swarming, the streets were full of carriages, throngs of students, uproariously boisterous, were pushing along after the fashion of students everywhere, blasts from diligent horns could be heard, together with the cracking of whips and clanking of sabres; then came a regiment and a band of music.
That music settled the matter for the professor. It seemed to get into his very veins. He fell to dancing, and then stopped suddenly, aware that the boys were laughing.
“Oh, well,” he said, “I suppose we may as well go to this brutal bull fight. It will be a disgrace, and you must both promise never to tell a soul that we attended such a beastly and degrading exhibition. Come on.”
He was the first to get his hat and hurry from the room.