They were going to pay, I was sure, though it might not be
this noon.

The two friars seemed, quiet, simple men, dining as
dumbly as if they sat in Saint Francis's refectory. The
sometime alcalde and the shipmaster were the talkers, the
student sitting as though he were in the desert, eating bread
and cheese and onions and looking on his book. The lawyer
watched all, talked to make them talk, then came in and settled
matters. The alcalde was the politician, knowing the
affairs of the world and speaking familiarly of the King
and the Queen and the Marquis of Cadiz.

The shipmaster said, "This time last year I was in London,
and I saw their King. His name is Henry. King
Henry the Seventh, and a good carrier of his kingship!"

"That for him!" said the alcalde. "Let him stay in his
foggy island! But Spain is too small for King Ferdinand."
"All kings find their lands too small," said the lawyer.

The shipmaster spoke again. "The King of Portugal's
ship sails ahead of ours in that matter. He's stuck his banner
in the new islands, Maderia and the Hawk Islands and
where not! I was talking in Cadiz with one who was with
Bartholomew Diaz when he turned Africa and named it
Good Hope. Which is to say, King John has Good Hope of
seeing Portugal swell. Portugal! Well, I say, `Why not
Spain'?"