pressed around the wheels of the buggy, showing their white teeth in
pleasant smiles.

"Can we get anything to eat here?" asked Keith.

They all smiled again most amiably. The elder swept off his hat with a free
gesture.

"_A piedes ouestros, senora_," he said, "_pero no hablo Ingles. Habla usted
Espanol?_"

Keith understood the last three words.

"No," he shook his head violently, "no _Espanol_. Hungry." He pointed to
Nan, then to himself: "She, me, hungry."

This noble effort brought no results, except that the Californians looked
more politely distressed and solicitous than ever.

"They don't understand us," murmured Nan; "don't you think we'd better
drive on?"

But Keith, who had now descended from the buggy, resorted to sign language.
He rubbed his stomach pathetically and pointed down his open mouth; as an
afterthought he rubbed the horse's belly; then, with apparent intention, he
advanced toward Nan. A furious red inundated her face and neck, and she
held her little parasol threateningly between them. Everybody burst into
laughter.

"_Si! si! si!_" they cried.