I heard the mate say:
"Here's the King of Castile come to Craney's funeral. Blamed if he
ain't a whole hearse!"
"Without doubt" says the keeper, grave and deep, being asked about
the fruit. Regarding sick boarders, he broke out sharp, "Since when
has my house----But I ask your pardon! You are strange to me. No
more. The gentlemen will do me the honour to be my guests."
Nobody appeared to have anything to say to that, but he looked too
lean to recommend his board. His Spanish wasn't the kind I was used
to. It was neither West Coast nor Mexican. I judged it was just
Spanish.
They left us in canvas hammocks on the ground floor of the Tower of
Ananias. It was three stories high, the top story opened to seaward,
with its lanterns and tin reflectors.
The darkness came on, as its habits are in the tropics, like a lamp
blown out. I could see the stars through the square seaward window of
the tower, and heard the keeper go softly up the stairs, and I went
to sleep, very weak and faint.
When morning came, and I pulled myself up to look through the square
window, and saw the ship making sail, it seemed to me I was some sick
and far away from everybody.
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