“He wants to reach that English ship. The gringo fancies he will be safer there than with us. Let us convince him that our hospitality is genuine.”
Still laughing, the crowd made way for Hal to pass off the pier, but the instant that he tried to walk along the shore in the direction of the bridge, he found himself confronted by the dense ranks of a barring crowd.
“No, no, senor! Straight back into Havana.”
“I guess I might as well go to a hotel,” Hal acquiesced, inwardly. “From there, an hour later, I may be able to get a closed carriage to the brig.”
There was a driver within call. To him Hal signaled.
The jehu came up, but on hearing the name of the hotel, he shook his head and scowled.
“No, no, senor,” he protested, “I cannot drive Yankees.”
“I will walk, then,” rejoined Hal.
But the crowd protested that he must ride.
“If the senor will pay three fares,” declared the jehu, “I will take him.”