Leighton joined him. Before them were spangled, in a great crescent, a
hundred thousand lights. Along the water-front the lights clustered
thickly. They climbed a cliff in long zigzags. At the top they clustered
again. Out on the bay they swayed from halyards, their reflections
glimmering back from the rippling water like so many agitated moons.

"Right you are--Bahia," said Leighton. "We're almost there, and it's no
fishing-hamlet, either."




CHAPTER XIV


The next morning, as they were sitting, after their coffee and rolls, at
a little iron table on the esplanade of the Sul Americano, Leighton
said: "It takes a man five years to learn how to travel in a hurry and
fifteen more to learn how not to hurry. You may consider that you've
been a traveler for twenty years." He stretched and yawned. "Let's take
a walk, slowly."

They started down the broad incline which, in long, descending zigzags,
cut the cliff that divided lower town from upper. The closely laid
cobblestones were slippery with age.

"It took a thousand slaves a century to pave these streets," said
Leighton. "Do you know anything about this town, Bahia?"