My going to Valencia was entirely an accident. But the more often
I stated that fact, the more satisfied was everyone at the capital
that I had come on some secret mission. Even the venerable
politician who acted as our minister, the night of my arrival,
after dinner, said confidentially, "Now, Mr. Crosby, between
ourselves, what's the game?"
"What's what game?" I asked.
"You know what I mean," he returned. "What are you here for?"
But when, for the tenth time, I repeated how I came to be marooned
in Valencia he showed that his feelings were hurt, and said
stiffly: "As you please. Suppose we join the ladies."
And the next day his wife reproached me with: "I should think you
could trust your own minister. My husband NEVER talks--not even to
"So I see," I said.
And then her feelings were hurt also, and she went about telling
people I was an agent of the Walker-Keefe crowd.