"Yes," said Dick, following her thought, and responsive even to the terms of her recent reflection, "he never would fit an English landscape till it swallowed him."
"'Amigo de grillos'?" said the girl. "Why do you call him that? Amigo must be friend. But grillos?"
"Irons—fetters," said Dick; and taking her by the arm, started in the direction of "The Goat in Boots," walking with a curiously swaggering gait which went far to mask his limp. "Amigos de grillos—fetter-pals. We were chained together for six months."
"In—in prison? Oh, Dick!" she cried, "I knew he was horrid."
"And me?"
"I know you aren't," she replied.
"I'm afraid he is, from your point of view," he replied. "But Pépe el Lagarto has one streak which interests me."
"Tell me," said Amaryllis.
And as they walked slowly towards the inn, he told her of Pépe and his coca-leaves; of the Peruvian Indians' use of them to resist hunger and fatigue; and of how the little man had given his all, which he could not replace, to help la señorita roja over the roughness of her way.
"I had to keep a little in a bit of paper to satisfy him," said Dick.