“You feel,” said Wally, “that even if they don’t manage to sell you a pennyworth, they’re amply rewarded for their trouble, by the pleasure of having seen you!”
In a restaurant overlooking the sea they procured very bad coffee with cakes of startling colours and quite poisonous taste; after which refection every one felt rather ill, and formed a high opinion of Spanish digestive powers. There were German sailors in the restaurant evidently from the ships in the harbour; they looked sourly at the cheery little party of English-speaking people, and muttered guttural remarks that clearly were not pleasant.
“It’s hardly to be expected that they should feel good-humoured at the sight of us,” said Jim. “Poor beggars—here since war broke out, with nothing to do, and practically no money; and their ships rotting in the harbour. And they have to watch us go in and out just as we please. It wouldn’t excite one’s finer feelings, if one were a German.”
“Have Germans got any?” queried Wally.
“They’re not overstocked, I believe,” Jim said, grinning. “But one wouldn’t develop many in Las Palmas, anyhow. I’ve seen more villainous faces here than in the whole course of my previous existence. Our Zulu friend in Durban was a beauty, compared to some of them.”
“Yes, one wouldn’t care to wander about here alone on a dark night,” said his father. “Half of the populace look as though they would quite cheerfully and politely assassinate any one for sixpence. Come on, children; the guide seems to be getting excited—it’s time we went back to the ship.”
The Perseus steamed away in the twilight—the crowd of boatmen chattering and shouting round her until the last moment, and attempting to sell for a few pence articles for which, earlier in the day, they had demanded many shillings. Past the imprisoned German ships they went, seeing the sullen crews watching them, envying them the freedom of the seas. The captain came along the deck as they watched the sunset and the slowly fading white town under the mountain.
“Well, we didn’t get much news out of Las Palmas,” he said. “One never does. It’s all deadlock, anyhow, at the Front; winter has shut down on a lot of activities.”
“Judging by my papers, most of the battle area seems water-logged,” said Mr. Linton. “It wouldn’t give much scope for movements.”
“No,” the captain agreed. “Personally, the agents have left me completely undecided; we’re scheduled to go to London, but they say we may be sent to Liverpool—or anywhere else.” He laughed. “Time was when a man was master on his ship—but in war he’s not much more than a cabin-boy. There’s a hint that the Government want our cargo of meat to go straight to France.”