“Si, Señor,” replied Don Cosmé, holding the steak on his fork.
“A guana steak! Do you think, lads, he means the ugly things we saw at Lobos.”
“To be sure—why not?”
“Then, by Jove, I’m through! I can’t go lizards. Thank you, my dear Don Cosmé; I believe I have dined.”
“Try this; it is very tender, I assure you,” insisted Don Cosmé.
“Come, try it, Major, and report,” cried Clayey.
“Good—you’re like the apothecary that poisoned his dog to try the effect of his nostrums. Well,”—with an oath—“here goes! It can’t be very bad, seeing how our friend gets it down. Delicious, by Jupiter! tender as chicken—good, good!”—and amidst sundry similar ejaculations the major ate his first guana steak.
“Gentlemen, here is an ortolan pie. I can recommend it—the birds are in season.”
“Reed-birds, by Jove!” said the major, recognising his favourite dish.
An incredible number of these creatures disappeared in an incredibly short time.