these delicacies and shook his head--still obviously desirous of
giving no offence. Soup was more comprehensible, and the sailor
consumed his portion with a non-committing countenance. But the
fish, which happened to be of a Mediterranean savour--served in
little lumps--caused considerable hesitation.

"Is it slugs?" inquired the mariner guardedly--as if open to
conviction--in a voice that penetrated half the length of the table.

The waiter explained in fluent Castilian the nature of the dish.

"I want to know if it's slugs," repeated the sailor, with a stout
simplicity.

One or two commercial travellers, possessing a smattering of
English, smiled openly, and an English gentleman seated at the side
of the inquirer leant gravely towards him.

"That is a preparation of fish," he explained. "You won't find it
at all bad."

"Thank you, sir," replied the old man, helping himself with an air
of relief which would have been extremely comic had it been shorn of
its pathos. "I am afraid," he went on confidentially, "of gettin'
slugs to eat. I'm told that they eat them in these parts."

"This," replied the other, with stupendous gravity, "is not the slug
season. Besides, if you did get 'em, I dare say you would be
pleasantly surprised."