nto your arms;
and one or the other must happen unless he puts his auto on a train or
steamer, neither of which is likely."

Somewhat comforted, I proposed to follow at once, but Dick wistfully
reminded me that the afternoon was wearing on, and he was wearing with it.
Soon he would be worn out, unless I gave him something to eat. It seemed
years since that cup of coffee and roll of the early morning.

If we needed nourishment, the car needed water. Both needs were supplied
somewhat grudgingly by me, though the physical part of me did appreciate
the coolness of the restaurant, and the strange dishes for which Cadiz is
famous; the mushroom-flavoured cuttle-fish, the golden dorado in sherry.

Then off we started again, to take a road which the landlord warned us was
none too good. People who travelled by carriage or diligence had evil
things to say of the fourteen to eighteen hours of journey, though the
scenery was fine. This did not sound enlivening; but what good horses
could do in fourteen hours, the Gloria could do in three or four.

Through ramifications of narrow streets I steered the car out of Cadiz. In
all directions they branched off from one another, interlacing,
overlapping with the intricacy of a puzzle. The houses were high, too, and
there was not a window with glittering balcony of glass and iron, where
dark-eyed women did not lean between heaven and earth, to smile down upon
our humming motor. It was all very quaint and gay, in spite of ancient,
tragic memories; and though few cities of Spain are older than Cadiz--which
claims Hercules for founder--the white houses looked as clean as if they
had been built yesterday or some mediaeval model.

We tore back to San Fernando; and soon came upon the bad surface which had
been prophesied. The Gloria bumped over ruts and grooves, and scattered
stones, and perforce I had to slacken speed lest she should break some
blood-vessel. Nevertheless we did not waste time in covering the six miles
to Chiclana de la Frontera; and when we had crashed through this ancient
stronghold of the Phoenicians we jolted out into an open, sandy solitude,
with only the knoll of Barosa to break its blank monotony.

Even a mind preoccupied must spare a few thoughts for Graham and the
"Faugh-a-ballaghs," on this ground where Spanish men and British men
fought shoulder to shoulder against the French invader. But when we passed
the road branching away to Conil, and held straight on across