I laughed now pleasantly enough and consented to stay, for indeed I was both faint and hungry.
That was as nice a little dinner as ever I remember partaking of. The mountain trout from the loch beneath were far better than salmon. There was mountain mutton, too, that had been fed in the glen. The vegetables were delicious, and so too was the fruit.
I felt certain before an hour was over that I was in a fair way to become very friendly, not only with Captain Reeves himself, but with pretty little Mina Reeves and young Don Miguel M‘Lean.
A strange name, I must admit, but the lad himself was somewhat strange. His father—dead—was half a Spaniard; his mother—at this time living in the “Granite City”—was sister to Captain Reeves.
I will tell you, reader, more about Mina and Don Miguel in my next chapter.
Here let me say that I spent a most enjoyable evening. I am a very poor smoker, but my host’s cigars were so exceedingly mild that I could not help indulging in one at least.
This would not hurt a fully-developed man. It is to boys or young men that the too seductive weed proves so very harmful, weakening the nerves and rendering the heart as soft and flabby as that of a rabbit.
Many a story of his wild life at sea did the captain tell me, and naturally enough I was not far behind in spinning a yarn (true). Not only did Miguel himself and Mina sit near us, seemingly entranced, but the old maids of uncertain age as well.
Just once or twice did we break up to listen to the Don’s guitar and the sweet, sad strains of Mina’s violin; then the instruments were laid aside for the night, and we were ordered to commence again.
“Why,” I cried at last, “it is long past ten!”