I saw him recollecting.

"Dress is different and poorer, but you are the squire in the crowd! 'Sailor Palos sailor'-- There's some meaning there too!" He seemed to ponder it, then asked if I was for Cordova.
"No.

I am going to Malaga where I take ship." "This is not the Malaga road." "No.

But I am in no hurry! I should like to walk a mile with you." "Then do it," he answered.

"Something tells me that we shall not be ill travelers together." I felt that also and no more than he could explain it.