"Where are you going now?" asked Jan.
"We are all going to Carthagena," said the French girl. "We'll be down there all the summer. There are English there too, I have heard—sailors. I like sailors. You see, I had to get away from Madrid. I had a friend, and one day while I was out he stole all my spare money, and all my clothes, which he took to the pawnshop. And that left me stranded. Then I heard these two girls were going to Carthagena, to a place, so I said, 'I'll come too,' and here I am. Anyway one has to be somewhere, and I adore knocking about. It's life, isn't it?"
The dark girl was merely a selfish, pretty animal. She curled up on the officer's seat like a black cat. She then slyly prodded the poor little stout man with her high heels, so that he gradually moved up towards me, leaving me little room in which to sit, while the dark girl could stretch out at her ease. The other girl sat in her corner, saying little, smoking cigarette after cigarette. She seemed to be one of those stolid creatures who drop through life, taking good and bad without change of face or of manner. She might have been rather South German than Spanish. In contrast with these two the French girl was simple and attractive. One noted, too, that she had a fine streak of unselfishness in her character; she even talked without bitterness of the man who had robbed her.
Young men drifted along the corridors and stared in at the girls. One man, who looked well off, dressed in a tweed sporting coat, came in and made friends. He gave them cigarettes and drinks of brandy from a flask. At about one o'clock in the morning, one of the cardboard boxes was opened and disclosed a large pie, which was divided. The stout old gentleman had a piece, so did "Tweeds." Some was offered to us, but we had dined well at Madrid and did not feel hungry. But to refuse in Spain is a delicate matter, so we gave them cigarettes to indicate goodwill.
We stopped at a dark station. The door was flung open and a tall sunburned man clambered into the carriage. He had around his waist a broad leather belt which was stuck full of knives. These implements were clasp knives, and varied from small pocket knives and pruning knives to veritable weapons a foot in length. He was not a famous brigand, though he looked one, but a salesman. The larger knives had a circular ratchet and a strong spring at the back, so that upon opening they made a blood-curdling noise, which in itself would be enough to induce any angry man to finish the matter by burying the blade in his enemy's gizzard. He did no business in our carriage, and went off down the platform opening and shutting a sample of his murderous wares, crying out: "Navajos! Navajos!"
The train went on, and as we reached southward the night became warmer. The stout old man left us, and the black girl stretched out at full length, occasionally prodding me with her French heels. Presently the darkness became less opaque. A faint silhouette of low hills, and then a dim reflection from flat lands, appeared.
We stopped at another station; an unimportant wayside station with a small house for booking-office and a drinking-booth in a lean-to alongside.
"I must have a drink," exclaimed "Tweeds." "Who will come with me?"
Neither the black girl nor the cowgirl would move. We had still lemonade in our Thermos flasks. So the French girl, in her muslin peignoir, and "Tweeds" clambered down the carriage steps and disappeared through the door of the fonda.