"I invite you all," cried Leidesdorff, waving his hands and almost dancing in his eagerness. "Every man-jack of you in all Yerba Buena."
"How about the ladies, Leidesdorff?" called out a sailor.
"Ah, forgive me, Senora, Senorita!" cried the Dane remorsefully. He swept off his wide-brimmed hat with an effort, for he had a fashion of jamming it very tightly upon his head. He laid a hand enthusiastically upon the shoulders of both Spear and Cooper. "It grows better and better. Tomorrow, if the Captain is willing," he jerked his head toward the Portsmouth, "tomorrow evening we shall have a grand ball. It shall celebrate the day of independence."
"But tomorrow is the eighth of July," said Cooper.
"What matter?" Leidesdorff exclaimed, now thoroughly enthusiastic. "It's the spirit of the thing that counts, my friends."
A crowd was assembling. Mrs. Windham and her daughter drew instinctively aside. Benito stood between them and the growing throng as if to shield them from a battery of curious glances.
"Will the ladies accept?" asked Leidesdorff with another exaggerated salute.
Senora Windham, haughty and aloof, had framed a stiff refusal, but her daughter caught her hand. "Do not antagonize them, mother," she said in an undertone. "Let us meet this Gringo Commandante of the ship. Perhaps," she smiled archly, "it is not beyond the possibilities I may persuade him into giving aid."
The elder woman hesitated, glanced inquiringly at Nathan Spear who stood beside them. He nodded. "The ladies will be pleased," he answered in their stead. Another cheer met this announcement.