It required the sacrifice of another match to tell me it was seven o’clock; but the game was really worth the candle, for I rejoiced that the day had arrived.
After a while I had a visitor—the jailor was a heavily armed retainer of the alcalde, whose piratical appearance was apt to discourage one from all thought of attempting to overpower him and secure his outfit.
I pretended to be cheerful, and even joked with the fellow as well as my knowledge of Spanish allowed.
Whether he understood me or not, he evidently was not inclined to join in my light humor, for slamming down a pitcher of vile water, together with a vessel containing some tortillas and frijoles, he gave me a black scowl that would have made his fortune on the stage, and stalked away, noisily locking the door as if to comfort me.
His face looked a little familiar, yet for the life of me I could not remember where I had seen him before, nor how I had injured him.
Never mind—I felt ravenously hungry, and the water, drank in the dark where one might not see its defects, was not so bad.
I have partaken of many a dainty fare in my day, where tables groaned beneath the weight of good things garnered from the four corners of the earth; but, after all, appetite is the true connoisseur, and I honestly believe that humble portion of beans and maize cakes, devoured much after the manner of a savage, in that dark and damp dungeon, tasted better than the historic feast of Lucullus.
At any rate, they did not mean to starve me—not that I had entertained fears in this respect, for surely one who had the cupidity of the alcalde would never kill the goose that laid the golden eggs—at least, until he had good reason to believe the source had been drained.
When noon came my genial jailor again made his appearance.
More beans and fried cakes—never mind, one can stand even this monotonous bill of fare when the appetite holds good.