few hours, with even more
satisfaction than in the light skiffs of the Regatta Club.

His visits always ended in the kitchen, invited there by Uncle Caragol,
who was accustomed to treat him with fraternal familiarity. If the
youthful oarsman was perspiring greatly.... "A refresquet?" And the
_chef_ would prepare his sweet mixture that made men, after one gulp,
fall into the haziness of intoxication.

Esteban esteemed highly the "refrescos" of the cook. His imagination,
excited by the frequent reading of novels of travel, had made him
conceive a type of heroic, gallant, dashing sailor--a regular
swash-buckler capable of swallowing by the pitcherful the most rousing
drinks without moving an eyelid. He wanted to be that kind; every good
sailor ought to drink.

Although on land he was not acquainted with other liquors than those
innocent and over-sweet ones kept by his mother for family fiestas,
once he trod the deck of a vessel he felt the necessity for alcoholic
liquids so as to make it evident that he was entirely a man. "There
wasn't in the whole world a drink that could do _him_ any harm...." And
after a second "refresco" from Uncle Caragol, he became submersed in a
placid nirvana, seeing everything rose-colored and considerably
enlarged,--the sea, the nearby boats, the docks, and Montjuich in the
background.

The cook, looking at him affectionately with his bleared eyes, believed
that he must have bounded back a dozen years and be still in Valencia,
talking with that other Ferragut boy who was running away from the
university in order to row in the harbor. He almost came to believe
that he had lived twice.

He always listened patiently to the lad's complaints, interrupting him
with solemn counsels. This fifteen-year-old Ferragut appeared
discontented with life. He was a man and he had to live with women--his
mother and two nieces, who were always making laces,--just as in other
times his mother had been the lace-making companion of her
mother-in-law, Dona Cristina. He wanted to be a seaman and they were
obliging him to study the uninteresting courses leading to a bachelor's
degree. It was scarcely likely, was it, that a captain would have to
know Latin?... He wanted to bring his student life to an end so as to
become a pilot and continue practicing on the bridge, beside his
father. Perhaps at thirty years of age, he might achieve the command of
the _Mare Nostrum_ or some similar boat.

Meanwhile the lure of t