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CORDOBA ` 63
valuable cloak at that, with lovely red and green lin-
ing. The man is serious, the offer is not a mere matter
of form. But what shall I give him for it? Money
will not do, and “as for my watch—I could not part
with so much in exchange. But I shall think up some-
thing, before we leave him; something that will cost
me nothing and yet have value in his eyes. I smile at
the generous merchant and he smiles in return, but
hardly as benevolently as before. That would really
be asking too much.
There he sits gazing at me so curiously—wondering
perhaps that I have no breeding at all. But I do not
understand. I am not a Spaniard. Then he shivers
as if freezing; it should be my duty to say now: “My
wretched cloak is at your service.” He could then keep
the cloak without any further ceremony. But I do not
understand; I have come into possession of a cloak
and do not intend to part with it so readily. Is it not
a silly thing to give something away and then expect
to get it back? How really too easy to enjoy a repu-
tation as the most courteous and most hospitable peo-
ple in Europe on such an inexpensive foundation!
I talk to my wife sleepily about the lovely cloak and
discuss my inability to make some gift in return. Her
only reply is to suggest what a lovely beret she could
have made for herself out of the velvet lining. I
make protest against any division of the spoils, and we
prepare for a sharp family scene when the train sud-
denly halts at a village station. Our generous mer-
chant leans over to read the name of the station, jumps
up, takes his hand-bag, absent-mindedly throws his
cloak over his shoulders and dashes out. He came
near missing his station, is our thought as we gaze
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