Pedro, a short, compact man of thoroughly mixed blood, and with an
eyebrow cut away, whose surname no one knew, smiled his acknowledgments.

"Who knows?" resumed Galahad, when those who understood English had
explained in Spanish to those who did not, "but they may soon need the
services not only of our good doctor heer, but of our society; and that
Fernandez and Benigno, and Gonzalez and Dominguez, may not be chosen to
see, on that very schooner lying at the Picayune Tier just now, their
beloved remains and so forth safely delivered into the hands and lands
of their people. I say, who knows bur it may be so!"

The company bowed graciously as who should say, "Well-turned phrases,
Senor--well-turned."

"And _amigos_, if so be that such is their approoching fate, I will
say:"

He lifted his glass, and the rest did the same.

"I say, I will say to them, Creoles, countrymen, and lovers, boun
voyadge an' good luck to ye's."

For several moments there was much translating, bowing, and murmured
acknowledgments; Mazaro said: "_Bueno!_" and all around among the long
double rank of moustachioed lips amiable teeth were gleaming, some
white, some brown, some yellow, like bones in the grass.

"And now, gentlemen," Galahad recommenced, "fellow-exiles, once more.
Munsher D'Himecourt, it was yer practice, until lately, to reward a good