"When you feel like it, seño'—now, if you are ready."
"I stay ready. How do we get there?" He asked the question with a vague feeling that the black man might climb up to the roof of the blue house and show him a flying-machine.
"I have a little motor around at the garage, seño'."
"Uh-huh? Well, that's good. Let's go."
The negro went into a room for an old hat. He took a key from his pocket, opened the door, and courteously bowed the American into the calle. When he had locked the door behind them, he said, "Now you go in front, seño'," and indicated the direction down the street. Strawbridge did so, the negro following a little distance behind. They looked like master and servant set forth on some trifling errand.
They had not gone very far before Strawbridge observed that two or three blocks behind them came the guitarist. This fellow meandered along with elaborate inattention to either the white man or the negro.