"No, you are not; you're hungry. You must have a bite first; what shall it be? Oh, no matter; I'll get you something if you promise not to ask any questions."
"All right," said Leo, inwardly cringing at the thought of stuffed rats.
Paz was gone but a little while. When he came back he was carrying a basket, from which he produced a small flask of a very sweet, fruity sirup, a dish of something that looked like little fish swimming in golden jelly—salt and savory Leo found them—and a sort of salad garnished with tiny eggs. These were followed by nuts of a peculiar flavor, and small fruits as exquisite to look at as they were delicious to taste.
When Leo had done ample justice to all these things Paz looked relieved, as if he had feared they might not suit.
"Never ate anything better in my life," said Leo.
"I am glad to hear it; tastes differ so. Now these things come from all parts of the world—the fish from Spain, the eggs from Africa, the nuts from Italy, the fruits from France, and the sirup from Portugal."
"Oh dear!" said Leo, wondering how their freshness was preserved.
"Yes, I suppose you have no idea of our canning business."
"None in the world."
"I presumed as much," said Paz, wisely, "Nor am I going to bore you with any more information."