With their pockets full of oranges, the boys started on their climb,
which was accomplished in capital time. From the flagstaff they
enjoyed the magnificent view of the African coast across the straits,
of Spain stretching away to their right, of the broad expanse of the
blue Mediterranean, and of the bay with its ships, and the "Falcon"
dwarfed to the dimensions of a toy vessel, at their feet. Then they
came down, paid a flying visit to the various fortifications and to
the galleries, whence the guns peer out threateningly across the low,
sandy spit, known as the neutral ground.

When all this was finished, it was only natural that they should go to
the principal hotel and eat a prodigious luncheon, and then Hawtry
proposed that they should sally out for a ramble into Spain.

They had been disappointed in the oranges, which they found in no way
better than those which they had bought in England. But they thought
that if they could pick them off the trees, they must somehow have a
superior flavor. Accordingly they sallied out by the land gate, passed
unquestioned through the line of British sentries, and were soon in
the little village inside the Spanish lines.

"It's awfully hot," Hawtry said, mopping his forehead. "Who would have
thought that it would have been so hot as this in any place in Europe
in the middle of February? Just fancy what it must be here in July!
Look, there is a fellow with two mules. I expect he would let them. I
vote we go for a ride. It's too hot for walking altogether.

"I say, old boy," he said, approaching a tall and powerfully-built
man, who was smoking a cigar, and leaning lazily against one of his
mules; "you let mules, we hire them, eh?"