“Oh, I’m tired of plague,” announced Miss Polly. “Bring the others here and let’s all go over to the plaza, where it’s cool.”
To their open and obvious delight, exhibited jauntily by the Englishman, with awkward and admiring respectfulness by the ball-player, and with graceful ease by the handsome Caracuñan, the rest were invited to join the party.
“Don’t let them scare you about plague, Miss Brewster,” said Cluff, as they found their chairs. “Foreigners don’t get it much.”
“Oh, I’m not afraid! But, anyway, we shouldn’t have time to catch even a cold. We leave to-morrow.”
The men exchanged glances.
“How?” inquired Sherwen and Raimonda in a breath.
“In the yacht, from Puerto del Norte.”
“Not if it were a British battleship,” said Galpy. “Port’s closed.”
“What? Quarantine already?” said Carroll.
“Quarantine be blowed! It’s the Dutch.”