It was a relief to everybody when closing time came, five o’clock. Mr. Ysnard’s open carriage arrived to carry him to his home in the country, and he told Kit that he was to go along.
“But you must have something around you, in this wind,” he said; “I think I can lend you a Mexican overcoat.” And he went into the office and returned in a minute with two large red blankets, one for himself and one for Kit.
“This is what we call a ‘serape,’”[1] he explained. “See, there is a slit cut in the middle for the head to go through,” and he slipped the blanket over Kit’s head and put his own on in the same way; and Kit could not help laughing to see himself so suddenly transformed into a young Mexican.
[1] Pronounced ser-rap-pa.
As they were driven through the streets he saw that Sisal was a desolate little place of few houses, some of them of stone plastered over and some covered with corrugated iron; and the streets were nearly deserted on account of the norther, and most of the shutters closed. The few men to be seen were all wrapped in serapes, which warmed the shoulders, but could not warm the bare feet, nor heads covered with straw hats.
Mr. Ysnard’s house was on the brow of a low hill overlooking the town and the sea, and after the late dinner he took Kit into his “den,” as he called it, and they had a long talk before bedtime.
“As you copied the manifests,” the agent said in the course of the conversation, “you are familiar with all the marks on the cargo. You may see some cases coming ashore without any marks at all. Those are little private ventures by some of the officers or crew; and when you see one of them all you have to do is let it pass without putting it on your list, you know. They escape paying duty by slipping them through that way.”
“No, sir; I have no instructions of that kind,” Kit answered. “My orders are to make a list of everything brought ashore.”
“But if there should be a little profit in it for you?” Mr. Ysnard suggested. “Suppose you were paid a small commission on everything that slipped through without your seeing it?”
“I don’t think you ought to ask it of me, Mr. Ysnard,” Kit replied. “The Captain trusts me, and I should be ashamed to betray him. I couldn’t possibly do it.”