he sea dragged him far from the classroom,
prompting him to visit Uncle Caragol at the very hour that his
professors were calling the roll and noting the students' absence.

The old man and his protege used to betake themselves in the galley
with the uneasy conscience of the guilty. Steps and voices on deck
always changed their topic of conversation. "Hide yourself!" and
Esteban would dodge under the table or hide in the provision-closet
while the cook sallied forth with a seraphic countenance to meet the
recent arrival.

Sometimes it was Toni, and the boy would then dare to come out, relying
on his silence; for Toni liked him, too, and approved of his aversion
to books.

If it was the captain who was coming to the boat for a few moments,
Caragol would talk with him, obstructing the door with his bulk at the
same time that he was smiling maliciously.

For Esteban the two most wonderful things in all the world were the sea
and his father. All those romantic heroes that had come from the pages
of novels to take their place in his imagination had the face and ways
of Captain Ferragut.

From babyhood he had seen his mother weeping occasionally in resigned
sadness. Years later, recognizing with the precocity of a
little-watched boy the relations that exist between men and women, he
suspected that all these tears must be caused by the flirtations and
infidelities of the distant sailor.

He adored his mother with the passion of an only and spoiled child, but
he admired the captain no less, excusing every fault that he might
commit. His father was the bravest and handsomest man in all the world.

And when rummaging one day through the drawers in his father's
stateroom, he chanced upon various photographs having the names of
women from foreign countries, the lad's admiration was greater still.
Everybody must have been madly in love with the captain of the _Mare
Nostrum. Ay_! No matter what he might do when he became a man, he could
never hope to equal this triumphant creature who had given him
existence....

When the boat, on its return from Naples, arrived at Barcelona without
its owner, Ferragut's son did not feel any surprise.

Toni, who was always a man of few words, was very lavish with them on
the present occasion. Captain Ferragut had remained behind because of
important business, but he would not be long in returning. His second
was looking for him at any moment. Perhaps he would make the trip by
land, in ord