"H'm!" coughs Mrs. Steele. "My dear, the boatman is coming back with a huge bunch of cocoanuts."
"Yes," the Baron says, "I dthought you vould like to taste dthe milk."
The Mexican rolls up his white trousers and wades back to the boat. He pulls his naked knife out of his sash and begins to cut away the thick green rind of the nut. That done, the Baron takes it from him and shows us the three eyes at one end where the fibre is soft. When the sharp point of the knife is inserted the liquid within spurts up into the Baron's face.
"Oh!" he says, with a comical look of dismay, "ve haf no cup; ve must drink like dthe natives," and he saws away an opening and hands the cocoanut to Mrs. Steele. She puts her lips to the shell and tastes a drop with dainty distrust.
"Oh, Madame, it ees fery gude—you vill like it if you drink more!" But Mrs. Steele passes it on to me. The first sip is so cool and refreshing I greedily tip the shell to take a long draught, and the liquid runs down both sides of my mouth into my lap. The Baron insists there is an art in cocoanut tippling.
"You must hold dthe mout' zo—" and he illustrates, "and dthe cocoa zo." He puts it cautiously to his lips. "Now!" he says, after taking a sip, "you try!"
With childish good faith I take the clumsy nut, but as I lift it to drink I notice a covert gleam of satisfaction in the Peruvian's eyes, and I realise in a flash that the cocoa shell is becoming a sort of a loving-cup—for there was but one little place cut for drinking where first I essayed the draught and then the Baron.
"My dear," remarks my quiet but observant chaperon, "I have never been able before to account for the milk in the cocoanut. I know all about it now!"
I throw the shell into the water with an impatient gesture.
"I know all I wish to. It's a great bother and very little gained."