He was grinning at me sheepishly and shifting from one leg to the other. As I paused he blurted out:
"Aw, I don't talk no French!"
"Then I suppose it 'll have to be English," I answered, in the first words of that language I had spoken in ninety-six days--and in truth they came with difficulty.
"Go' bly' me!" burst out the astounded knight of the steering-wheel. "'Ow ever 'd you get in this corner o' the world? Say, I ayn't said more 'n 'yes, sir' or 'no, sir' to their lordships--" with a slight jerk of the head toward the men under the awning--"in so long I 've bally near forgot 'ow. 'Ere it is Sunday an'--"
"Saturday," I interrupted.
"Sunday, I say," repeated the chauffeur, drawing out a card on which were penciled many crude crosses. "Ere 's 'ow I keep track--"
"Señora," I asked, turning to a woman who was filling a pitcher at a hydrant behind me, "qué día tenemos hoy?"
Her lip curled disdainfully as she answered:
"Tiens! Vous me croyez un de ces barbares-là?"--tossing her head toward the mountain range behind us.
"Mille pardons," I laughed. "Force of habit. This monsieur and I are disputing whether to-day is Saturday or Sunday."