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Another, a shorter, thicker shape, appeared, walking with dignity. It was Castro. The other two had a movement of recoil, then took off their hats. "Buenas noches, caballeros," his voice said, with grim politeness. "You are out late." "So is your worship. Vaya, Señor, con Dios. We are taking the air." They walked away, while Castro remained looking after them.
BLOOM: Buenas noches, señorita Blanca, que calle es esta? Sraid Mabbot. BLOOM: Haha. Merci. Esperanto. Slan leath. A sackshouldered ragman bars his path. BLOOM: I beg. BLOOM: Keep to the right, right, right. If there is a signpost planted by the Touring Club at Stepaside who procured that public boon?
I had smuggled into my brain a few words of Spanish by the help of Izzy, and I began to remark in a rich Andalusian brogue: "'Buenas dias, senor. Yo tengo yo tengo "'Oh, sit down, Mr. Bowers, says he. 'I spent eight years in your country in colleges and law schools. Let me mix you a highball. Lemon peel, or not? "Thus we got along.
Riding up to the house, a small adobe, with one room, and a shed for a kitchen, the ranchero and the ranchera came out and greeted us with a hearty "Buenas tardes, Senores, paisanos amigos," shaking hands, and inviting us at the same time to alight and remain for the night, which invitation we accepted. The kind-hearted ranchera immediately set about preparing supper for us.
I addressed two or three labourers whom I found standing at their doors; they appeared, however, exceedingly reserved, and with a gruff "buenas noches" turned into their houses without inviting me to enter. I at last found my way to the church porch, where I continued some time in meditation.
"You see, I know better than to grip you by the arm," she said, dropping into English again. "You have a skill and tact that not one in a million possesses. I am deeply grateful." We were at the foot of the stone stairs. I had my hand on the slim iron rail. "You will be able to get back to your rooms now?" "Perfectly." "Then again buenas." "Adios. But shall I not see you again?"
"Why, yes," answered the captain, "if you want to call a schooner a ship, and I don't mind lyin'. But you better say Miller and Gonzales, owners, and ordinary plain, Billy-be-damned old Samuel K. Boone, skipper." "Where are you going to?" asked the refugee. "Buenas Tierras, coast of South America I forgot what they called the country the last time I was there.
I always thought I'd marry a lord or a rich gentleman coming with a private yacht. Buenas noches, señorita. El hombre ama la muchacha hermosa. Why me? Because you were so foreign from the others. Better not stick here all night like a limpet. This weather makes you dull. Must be getting on for nine by the light. Go home. Too late for Leah, Lily of Killarney. No. Might be still up.
"The way to argue with these sort of gents," said Barlow contemptuously, "is shoot their eyes out first and talk next." But as the foremost of the little cavalcade drew up in front of them, with his three followers curbing their horses a few paces in his rear, the fellow's greeting was amazingly hospitable. "Buenas dias, amigos," he called to them.
The board was turned back into place and the rug spread out again. "Safe as in the Strongburg Bank," said Kit. "Well, me for the feathers. We're going to be kept humping to-morrow. Buenas noches." In a few minutes the big ranch house was dark and quiet; every person in it was sound asleep.
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