"It would be like betting on the war," I said. "You don't need any economic interest."
"I'm very curious to see them," Robert said.
Montoya came up to our table. He had a telegram in his hand. "It's for you." He handed it to me.
It read: "Stopped night San Sebastian."
"It's from them," I said. I put it in my pocket. Ordinarily I should have handed it over.
"They've stopped over in San Sebastian," I said. "Send their regards to you."
Why I felt that impulse to devil him I do not know. Of course I do know. I was blind, unforgivingly jealous of what had happened to him. The fact that I took it as a matter of course did not alter that any. I certainly did hate him. I do not think I ever really hated him until he had that little spell of superiority at lunch—that and when he went through all that barbering. So I put the telegram in my pocket. The telegram came to me, anyway.
"Well," I said. "We ought to pull out on the noon bus for Burguete. They can follow us if they get in to-morrow night."
There were only two trains up from San Sebastian, an early morning train and the one we had just met.
"That sounds like a good idea," Cohn said.
"The sooner we get on the stream the better."
"It's all one to me when we start," Bill said. "The sooner the better."
We sat in the Iruña for a while and had coffee and then took a little walk out to the bull-ring and across the field and under the trees at the edge of the cliff and looked down at the river in the dark, and I turned in early. Bill and Cohn stayed out in the café quite late, I believe, because I was asleep when they came in.
In the morning I bought three tickets for the bus to Burguete. It was scheduled to leave at two o'clock. There was nothing
