Frank clasped his head in his hands with a melodramatic gesture.
“They oughtn’t to spring everything on us at once,” he said. “I can’t stand much of this.”
All gathered around the massive table, and from each was wrung some expression of surprise and delight. The dishes were examined closely as possible, although numbers of the larger articles could not be taken up and handled because they contained food.
“Well,” said Don Ernesto, at length, “I, for one, am famished. Suppose we dine before the food becomes cold.”
He stirred the contents of the largest bowl with a great silver spoon.
“Apparently a vegetable stew,” he said. “The odor is delicious. Come, I shall fill these smaller bowls and let each help himself. I promise you I shall eat heartily.”
“Would they poison the food, perhaps, Father?” Ferdinand inquired.
“That is a foolish idea, Ferdinand. They might have disposed of us otherwise long ere this. Come, eat.”
All fell to with a good appetite, the two Chilian huachos, old retainers of Don Ernesto, taking their bowls apart and sitting on one of the great couches, talking together in low tones. The others stood about the table, exclaiming at this and that, the excellence of the food, the beauty of the dishes, while Don Ernesto—a polished conversationalist—held forth at length upon the advantages of a vegetable diet.
“You see, there is no meat here,” said he. “Perhaps these Incas are vegetarians. For such dieting goes with civilization. It is only the savages who eat nothing but meat.”