old soldier, several artillerymen from the pretty and absolutely
useless fort, a priest and a female vendor of oranges put themselves
out so much as to congregate in a little knot at the spot where
Conyngham landed.

'Body of Bacchus!' said the priest, with a pinch of snuff poised
before his long nose, 'an Englishman--see his gold watch chain.'

This remark called forth several monosyllabic sounds, and the
onlookers watched the safe discharge of Conyngham's personal effects
with a characteristic placidity of demeanour which was at once
tolerant and gently surprised. That any one should have the energy
to come ashore when he was comfortable on board, or leave the shore
when amply provided there with sunshine, elbowroom, and other
necessaries of life, presented itself to them as a fact worthy of
note but not of emulation. The happiest man is he who has reduced
the necessities of life to a minimum.

No one offered to assist Conyngham. In Spain the onlooker keeps his
hands in his pockets.

'The English, see you, travel for pleasure,' said the old soldier,
nodding his head in the direction of Gibraltar, pink and shimmering
across the bay.

The priest brushed some stray grains of snuff from the front of his
faded cassock--once black, but now of a greeny brown. He was a
singularly tall man, gaunt and grey, with deep lines drawn downwards
from eye to chin. His mouth was large and tender, with a humorous
corner ever awaiting a jest. His eyes were sombre and deeply shaded