"Señor," interrupted the landlord, "a good patriot doesn't require pay for working against the French."
Jack thought he had heard a different account about some of his host's countrymen, but he went on:
"Well then, you will not object to your sons entering my service as messengers between me and my general?"
"But, Señor, I shall then be single-handed. Who will there be then to attend to my guests—to mix the puchero, and stir the gaspacho, and rub down the mules? The lads could not leave their poor old father alone."
"Caramba!" struck in Antonio, who was now devoting himself to a fried onion, "what is that? Here am I leaving my wife and three children, to fight the French."
"You've left them before," said the landlord dryly.
"And there's Don Pedro's letter, you know," suggested Jack.
The landlord glanced at the letter, which lay on the table, and shrugged his shoulders.
"Well," he said, "I would do much for Don Pedro. He was a good master to me; he gave me the money to buy this inn; and since he asks me to serve you and my country at the same time, I can't refuse, Señor—if the lads are willing to go."
They at once professed their readiness to serve the Señor in any way, and assured him that they were well acquainted with the country for miles around.