“It is very good,” said Alfonso, eating rather close to the rind, “and it would have been wasted on that Italian, Christoval Colon, who would have been sure to share it with our reverend prior.”
“Yes,” said Diego, “it would have been wasted; but much as I have enjoyed it, I would not have begrudged it to him; for it is like enough that once he sets sail he will never taste of melon again. Was ever so crazy a venture! And yet to look at him he is serious and reverend enough. I thank my cousin, Martin Alonzo, that he fixed on me for the church. I would not go the voyage with him—no, not for ten thousand ducats of gold.”
“Ducats of gold!” said Alfonso, doubtfully. “I should think twice, like Fray Antonio, before I would refuse that.”
“Gold or silver,” said Diego, scornfully, “what would they profit you and you never returned home to spend them?”
“Let us go back,” said one of the timid ones, to whom the mention of Fray Antonio had brought up visions of a scourge vigorously applied.
“Go back!” said Diego. “Not I. As well be hung for an old sheep as a young lamb. The vessels sail to-night, and I warrant there will be rare doings at Palos to-day. I am going to Palos. Who is with me?”
“I will go,” said Alfonso. “Why not? I have eaten the melon, and I must digest it. Who else is with us?”
But very fear had made the others bold by this time, and to a boy they shrank back.
“Ha, ha, ha!” laughed Diego. “Well, go back, but have a care that Fray Antonio is not waiting for you at the gate.”
It was so possible a thing that the boys looked miserably at each other for a moment, and then started on a run for the convent, followed by the jeering laughter of the two who had elected to be truants.