This of course we were very glad to do. And after the meal was
over (very nice dishes they were, mostly cooked in olive-oil--I
particularly liked the fried bananas) we sat outside on the
pavement again and went on talking far into the night.

At last when we got up, to go back to our ship, this very nice
shopkeeper wouldn't hear of our going away on any account. He
said the streets down by the harbor were very badly lighted and
there was no moon. We would surely get lost. He invited us to
spend the night with him and go back to our ship in the morning.

Well, we finally agreed; and as our good friend had no spare
bedrooms, the three of us, the Doctor, Bumpo and I, slept on the
beds set out for sale on the pavement before the shop. The night
was so hot we needed no coverings. It was great fun to fall
asleep out of doors like this, watching the people walking to and
fro and the gay life of the streets. It seemed to me that Spanish
people never went to bed at all. Late as it was, all the little
restaurants and cafes around us were wide open, with customers
drinking coffee and chatting merrily at the small tables outside.
The sound of a guitar strumming softly in the distance mingled
with the clatter of chinaware and the babble of voices.

Somehow it made me think of my mother and father far away in
Puddleby, with their regular habits, the evening practise on the
flute and the rest--doing the same thing every day. I felt sort
of sorry for them in a way, because they missed the fun of this
traveling life, where we were doing something new all the
time--even sleeping differently. But I suppose if they had been