San Antonio daily light. [volume] (San Antonio, Tex.) 1886-1907, 1895-09-08

81 thought as much" growls Jack in
my ear. "A pretty nest of hornets we've
fallen into
The company, seeing there was no
more to be got out of Don Sanchez, be-
gan to murmur and scowl eyes at us,
whereupon Dawson, seeing how the land
lay, stands up and empties his pockets
ON the table, and 1 likewise, but betwixt
us there was no more than some French
pennies and some odds and ends of no
value at all Fetching deep sigh, Don
Lopez takes all these possessions into a
heap before him, and tells Don Sanchez
that he cannot believe persons of our
quality could travel with so little; that
he feels convinced Don Sanchez must
have dropped purse ON the way, and
that until it is found he can ON no ac-
count allow us to leave the neighbor-
hood.
"This comes of being so mighty fine!"
says Dawson, when Don Sanchez had
explained matters. Had we travelled
as became our condition, this brigand
would never have ensnared us higher.
And if they won't believe your story,
senior, I can't blame 'em, for l would
have sworn you had 81, 200 to your
hand +"
"Do you reproach me for my generos-
ity?" asks the don.
may, master, love you for being
free with your money while you have it,
but tits queer kind of generosity to
bring us into these parts with no means
of taking us back again. However, We'll
say no more about that if we get out of
this cursed smoke hole, and as we are
like to come off i'll if these Jack thieves
keep us here week or so and get moth
ing by it, 'twill'be best to tell 'em the
honest truth and acquaiut them that we
are no gentle folk, but only three poor
English mountebanks brought hither on
a wild goose chase"
This was bitter pill for Don Sanchez
to swallow. However, seeing no other
cure for our ills, he gulped it down with
the best face he could put ON it. But
from the mockery and laughter of all
who heard him twas plain to see they
would not believe word of his story.
"What would you have me do now?"
asks the don, turning to us when the
clamor had subsidized, and he told us
how he had tried to persuade them we
were dancers he was taking for show
to the fair at Barcelona, which they, by
our looks, would not believe, and espe-
cially that man of such build as Jack
Dawson could foot it, even to please
such heavy people as the English.
"What, cries Jack, 81 can't dance !
We will pretty soon put them to another
complexion if they do but give us space
and fair trial. You can strum gui-
tar, Kit, for I've heard you. And Moll,
my chick, do you dash the tears from
your cheek and pluck up courage to show
these Portugals what the English lass
can do. "
The brigands agreeing to this trial,
the table is showed back to give us u
space in the best light, and our judges
seating themselves conveniently Moll
brushes her eyes Ito little murmur of
sympathy, as 1 thought), and l strike
out the tune. Jack, with all the magnif
icence of a king, takes her hand and
leads her out to a French pavan, and
sure no one in the world ever stepped it
more gracefully than our poor little
Moll (now put upon her mettle), nor
more lightly than Dawson, so that ev-
cry rascal i'll our audience was won to
admiration, clapping hands and shout
ing "HOla ~ when it was done. And
this warming us we gave 'em next an
italian corantO, and after that an Eng
fish pillow dance, and in good faith had
they all been our dearest friends these
dirty fellows could not have gone more
mad with delight And then, Mol and
her father sitting down to fetch their
breath, dispute arose among the brig
ands which we were at a loss to under
stand until Don Sanchez explained that
a certain number would have it we were
real dancers, but that another party,
with Don Lopez, maintained there were
but court dancers, which only proved
the more we were of high quality to be
thus accomplished.
We'll convince 'em yet, Moll, with
a fix Of their doubts" cries Dawson,
starting to his feet again. TELL 'em we
will give 'em a stage dance of nymph
and wild man, senior, with an excuse
for our having no costume but this. Play
us our pastoral, Kit. And sing you your
ditty of Broken Heart Mol, in the
right place, that may get my wind fo1
the last caper.
Moll mods, and with ready wit takes
the comb from her head, letting hel
pretty hair tumble all about her shout
ders, and then, whipping up her long
skirt, tucks one end under her girdle
thereby making very dainty show o.
pink lining against the 'dark stuff anC
also giving more play for her feet. AnC
so thus they dance their pastoral, Dol
Sanchez taking tambourine and tap
ping il lightly to the measure, up t,
Molls song, which so rayished thes
hardy, stony men by the pathetic sweet
mess of her voice-for they could under