“I wish I could get landed at some big port,” said Fitz bitterly. “I wouldn’t call it dirty.”
“My word, what a fellow you are!” said Poole. “Grumbling again!”
“Grumbling!” cried Fitz hotly. “Isn’t it enough to make any one grumble, dragged off my ship a prisoner like this?”
“No,” cried Poole. “Why, some chaps would call it grand. Now you’ve got about well again it’s all a big lark for you. Every one’s trying to make you comfortable. Look at the adventures you are going through! Look at last night! Why, it was all fine, now that we have got through it as we did. You can’t say you didn’t like that.”
“Well, no,” said Fitz; “it was exciting.”
“So it is now. The gunboat’s safe to be after us, and here we are, going to take refuge up a river in perhaps no end of a wild country at the Don’s hacienda. Who knows what adventures we are going to have next!”
“Not likely to be many adventures at a muddy farm.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I pretty well know what a farm is.”
“Not a Central American one, my fine fellow. I dare say you will have to open your eyes wider than you think.”