The Peruvian's brows contract--he looks ferocious in the extreme--and I am a little sorry I mentioned the Captain. "Dthat Capitan ees von fool! He know not how to treat a zhentleman. I tell him I make a proces to dthe company and get him reprimand for how he spik to me." "Why, what did he say?" asks Mrs. Steele. "He tell me I act like _I_ vas Capitan, dthen he call me 'damn.' I tell him he vas a coachman!" The Baron looks surprised and a bit resentful at our laughter. "What made you call him a coachman?" Mrs. Steele is the first, as usual, to pull a straight face. "Madame forget I know not all Eenglish vords. I could dthink of nodthing more vorse--I vas zo crazy vidth madness." CHAPTER VI [Illustration: Chapter Six] THE BARANCA "See the banana plantations! Oh, those date-palms!" Mrs. Steele leans out of her window, full of delight at the curious panorama moving past. "Mrs. Steele!" I bend over and take her hand. "I hope all this will never grow dim. I want to remember it all my life." "You will, dear." She turns away absorbed, eager to lose nothing of this new phase of Nature. "Haf no fear--you vill not forget--Blanca." The low voice over my shoulder is an interruption; to enjoy the gift of sight is all-sufficient for a time. With happy disregard of the man at my back, I take in the changeful, fantastic vision. The adobe houses standing in orange groves, the long stretches of jungle, wild tangles of rank growth, cactus, giant ferns, brake and netted vines; birds of gorgeous plumage and discordant note, alligators basking on the sunny bank of a sluggish stream, half-dressed natives at work in coffee fincas, sugar-cane and cotton fields; nude children standing in the doorways of palm-thatched huts, staring with still and stupid wonder at the train, and looking like inanimate clay models of a fairer, finer race to come. It is all like a curious dream from which we waken at Escuintla to take our eleven o'clock breakfast. This place has been partially destroyed by earthquake, and Mrs. Steele urges despatch with breakfast that we may see what is left. A very tolerable meal is served in the wide, open veranda of the station. "What a nice little spoon!" Mrs. Steele remarks, as we sit down, noticing one of tortoise shell quaintly carved. "You like it?" is all the Baron says, and coolly puts it in his pocket. Mrs. Steele is aghast. "I pay dthem," he says unconcernedly. "Haf leedle salade?"