“Wal, I be hung!” exclaimed the Vermonter. “I kinder cal’late yeou’re the fust Yankee boy that was ever made such an offer.”
It was growing dark, and the boys were hungry. The trio finally descended and obtained supper.
After supper, seated comfortably in their rooms, they discussed the events of the day until Professor Scotch fell asleep in his chair.
“Now, Ephraim,” said Frank, “as long as we are to leave Madrid so soon, I propose to go out and look the city over once more in the evening. Will you come?”
“What’ll the professor say?”
“He is asleep, and he can say nothing till we return. Are you with me?”
“Ain’t we liable to run inter some kind uv trouble?”
“Not if we mind our own business. I will just write a little note for the professor, telling him not to worry, and leave it where he will find it in case he awakens before we return.”
Frank did so, and the two lads stole out of the room, leaving Professor Scotch snoring in the easy-chair.
The Square of Puerta del Sol was aglow with lights and swarming with people. The sidewalks were wide enough for four carriages to pass along side by side, and these sidewalks were thronged with crowds. Carriages were darting here and there across the square. By the fountain, on a single paving stone, were a match vender, a civil guard, a student, a beggar and a soldier, all in one group. Generals, officials, peasants, ladies and toreadors were passing everywhere. And every one seemed talking about the bull fights.