"Halloa, boys"--Don Carlos's greeting was hearty enough, as was the hand-shake all round--"going to have a little run round? That's right, _amigos_; nothing like it. Too much salt water is not good for anybody. What! no money! Well, now, that's too bad. Got something to sell, have you? All right, come along to the store and have a drink with me; then we'll talk business. Come on, now, boys, every one of you. A drink at my expense!" For a Chilano he spoke excellent English, with a slight American intonation and accent, and had a certain geniality of manner which appealed to the simple minds of the sailors. Off we sailed, the two Chilanos and myself in the van, and soon arrived at the "store," a combination of ship-chandler's shop, café, card-room, and billiard saloon. Inside, our hosts were the very essence of geniality. They served us with drinks and cigars--real Havanas at that--telling us to "Drink up, boys, and have another," until we were unanimous in our verdict that they were "true blue" and not the unscrupulous sharks we had been led to believe. A second drink was served out, and over this Don Carlos and his party made an inspection of the articles we had for sale. By a previous arrangement it had been agreed upon that our Frenchy was to have the entire handling of this part of the programme, not only because he spoke Chilano like a native, thereby putting a stopper upon any by-play between the two merchants, but also because we knew him as a man who could drive a hard bargain. Therefore, knowing that our interests--and our capital, too, for that matter--were in safe hands, we just lay back and smoked and drank our "piscoe," and allowed him to do the haggling. Nor did we take the slightest interest in the bargaining until our attention was suddenly arrested by high words and a long, burring curse from our shipmate. We looked up to see him on his feet, shaking his fist in Don Carlos's face--which was as white as the Frenchy's was red--and talking thirteen to the dozen. The volubility and the rapidity with which he delivered himself were simply marvellous. We could for the time being simply sit still and gape at him, open-mouthed and wondering. Such a jargon of sounds, such a jumble of languages, it would be hard to conceive. First French, next broken English, and then a mixture of Spanish and Chilano. At it he went, tacks and sheets, for all he was worth, never giving the Chilano a chance to open his mouth. And from it all we gathered that Don Carlos, polished rascal that he was, contended that the drinks and cigars we had received--free, gratis, and for nothing, as we thought--were sufficient pay for the "few paltry rags" we had brought ashore. And he'd be hanged, he said, if he'd pay another cent! "Gif me six dollars, you shark--zat ees une dollar for each piece of us," hissed Frenchy; "or I vill, I vill----" He ended up with a mixture of imprecations, while his fist, thumping upon the table, jarred every glass upon it.