“That’s nothing, master,” said an old sailor who stood near; “it’s the pilchards coming in, that’s all.”
“Too loud,” said the Captain.
There was a rather anxious pause; then the Captain stepped on to the quay, and the others followed him.
“Do talk to him—Jimmy,” said Anthea as they went; “you can find out all sorts of things for your friend’s book.”
“Please excuse me,” he said earnestly. “If I talk I shall wake up; and besides, I can’t understand what he says.”
No one else could think of anything to say, so that it was in complete silence that they followed the Captain up the marble steps and through the streets of the town. There were streets and shops and houses and markets.
“It’s just like Babylon,” whispered Jane, “only everything’s perfectly different.”
“It’s a great comfort the ten Kings have been properly brought up—to be kind to strangers,” Anthea whispered to Cyril.
“Yes,” he said, “no deepest dungeons here.”
There were no horses or chariots in the street, but there were handcarts and low trolleys running on thick log-wheels, and porters carrying packets on their heads, and a good many of the people were riding on what looked like elephants, only the great beasts were hairy, and they had not that mild expression we are accustomed to meet on the faces of the elephants at the Zoo.