"Adios, Padre Ugarte—Padre Eizagiuerro, adios!" said he, waving his hat, and yawing some what in his course towards the door; "adios, Don Perez; don't forget to learn to swi—swi—swim. A thousand farewells to you, Don Salvador."
Fortunately the door was promptly opened by a servant, or Pedro would have lurched against its panels of plate-glass, and ere long he found himself in the street, with his back against a lamp-post, and very dim ideas of how he had quitted the hotel. Then he thought Don Perez had insulted him, and a vague notion of returning and punching that individual's head floated through his own.
The cool breeze from the Pacific partly sobered him; he wrapped his poncho round him; felt if the cheque was safe; and, then, remembering that he was in a strange place, he searched next for his knife and revolver.
"All right—bueno!"—he hiccuped, "now for the Posada de San Augustin. The church is just opposite the posada—no, it is the posada that is opposite the church, amigo mio."
Though tipsy, he reflected that he had a heavy bill due there; but as he had not the slightest intention of liquidating it, the expenses of a night more would matter little, as he meant to depart for Santiago on the morrow and follow up his fortune there without delay.
Pedro lay long a-bed next day for divers weighty reasons. He had a crushing headache—the result of iced champagne, moselle, sherry, and brandy-punch; he had to remember all the little romances he had invented for the behoof of Don Salvador and the jealous Don Perez; he also deemed it safer to keep out of the way till nightfall—even though skilfully disguised—than to wander about Valparaiso while that devilish brigantine (he could see her from the posada windows) was anchored off the battery.
Among other things, Pedro reflected that he must get rid of Don Perez, whom he already hated as a rival.
He knew well that attentions to the fair sex must be gone warily about under the shadow of the Andes; for though the women of South America are handsome and gay, their ideas of morality are somewhat cloudy and vague, hence the jealousy of the men is extreme, their vengeance deadly and sudden. Spanish and Indian blood make a fiery mixture in that land of earthquakes and volcanoes.
Gallantry to women, married or single, is often repaid by the bullet or stiletto of a parent or lover; and yet what a certain writer says of California suits Chili, or any other of these regions, equally well, for there the very men who would lay down their lives to avenge the honour of their own family, would risk the same lives to complete the dishonour of another.
But the intentions of Senor Don Pedro Florez de Serrano, of the Southern navy, were strictly honourable. He contemplated nothing but matrimony.