And the last of the after-glow had faded. The lamps along the wharves gleamed like a rosary of fire. Red snakes of light coiled and writhed out over the placid waters of the basin. Stars, green and scarlet, shone from the peak of every mast. The sea was catching the ashen brightness of the nocturnal sky, and boats and buildings stood out in dark outlines of indigo against a vast background of nickel gray. "They're off! They're off!" Sails were being hoisted one by one, and in the night the canvas filtered the harbor lights as through veils of distended crêpe, or translucent wings of great black butterflies.
Swarming mobs of ragamuffins had occupied the points farthest projecting seaward. That would give their gibes the greatest possible range. And what fun it would be! But all ready to duck I They've got plenty of stones aboard to-night!
Slowly, gently, with barely perceptible motion in that breath of air, the first pair of boats drew out from the wharf-side, nodding idly on the swells like lazy bulls reluctant to make their dash. It was still possible from the piers to identify the teams and the men aboard them. "Good-by! Good-by!" the women called to their husbands. "Adiós! Bon viache!" But the youngsters were already at it, shrieking obscenities into the night in a tumultuous uproar. "Did you ever hear such talk!" Though the very wives who caught allusions to themselves laughed as loudly as any one at the most happy scores. It was one carnival of free language, where truth ran riot with slander.
"Lanudos! Worse than lanudos! I know where the curate is going to stay to-night! Johnnie will take good care of her, don't worry, my lad! Moo-oo! Moo-oo!" And this mooing of cattle was supposed to evoke the image of well-horned oxen in the minds of those brave sailors who were thus being cheered on their way out into peril. But then the stones began to come, whistling like bullets and striking sparks on the rocks where the serenaders were seeking cover. The greatest uproar was at the end of the Breakwater near which every boat had to pass on its way out from the basin. And when the volleys of jest would slacken from the shore, provocation would come from the boats themselves. The sailors seemed offended if their team went past without attention. "And you've nothing to say to us, eh!" some stentorian voice of an old tar would call. "Lanudos! Lanudos!" the answer would come in a storm of shouting, while the "cats" on board would begin to blow on the conches, which the boats used at sea in time of dark or fog.
On one of the rocks, in the full midst of a noisy crowd, and quite indifferent to the flying stones, stood Dolores, alone. The women who had gone down to the shore with her kept farther back away from the line of fire. Yet she was not quite alone. For a man had sauntered carelessly in her direction and finally stopped behind her. The splendid creature felt the warmth of Tenet's breath upon her neck, and her skin tingled under that burning contact. She turned her head and caught one fiery glance from his hungry eyes. And the bandaged hand, which had been drawing feigned groans of pain a few hours before, sought hers in the darkness. Free at last! For once, free! Free from fear of surprise, from thoughts of danger! Neither the Rector nor his son would be at home!
But a sudden shouting of redoubled violence awakened them from their swooning dream of guilty anticipation. "The Rector! There he goes! Flor de Mayo! 'Mayflower'!" And the most rousing of all the send-offs was for him. It was not only the young ones this time. Grown-ups, men and women, joined in the scathing jollity. For Dolores, the beautiful, Dolores, the bewitching, had her enemies in that throng of jealous wives. "Hey, the Rector! Hey, the prize-lanudo! A toreador for you, when you come home! The devil will want you, for the horns you'll have! Is it Jersey or Holstein? Or just any old steer, except a short-horn! And we're telling the truth, for once!"
Tonet grew uneasy. He was in plain sight of the throng. Some one might carry the joke too far! But Dolores showed herself a true daughter of tio Paella! She laughed and laughed, as though the best compliments of the sailing had been for her.
And the Rector was delighted. He had always thought himself the most popular man in town! "And what else have you got to say, mutton-heads?" he challenged, as his boat glided slowly along the shore, his moon-face beaming over the varnished stern of the Mayflower. "What else have you got to say!" That bravado gave impetus to the pointed insolence on the Breakwater. "Look at them over there? Tonet is with Dolores! Tonet is with Dolores! Lanudo! Cuckold! He's leaving a happy home to-night! But Tonet will be there! No vacation for Dolores!"
The Rector let go the tiller and stood up on the stern, livid with anger! "Pigs, hogs, grunters! Morrals! Cochinos!"
It was all very well to make fun of him. But this bringing the name of a woman in, and his brother's too, was going a bit too strong, a bit too strong!