“Nay, Master, I love you for being free with your money while you have it, but ’tis a queer kind of generosity to bring us into these parts with no means of taking us back again.  Hows’ever, we’ll say no more about that if we get out of this cursed smoke-hole; and as we are like to come off ill if these Jack-thieves keep us here a week or so and get nothing by it, ’twill be best to tell ’em the honest truth, and acquaint them that we are no gentle folk, but only three poor English mountebanks brought hither on a wild goose chase.”

This was a bitter pill for Don Sanchez to swallow; however, seeing no other cure for our ills, he gulped it down with the best face he could put on it.  But from the mockery and laughter of all who heard him, ’twas plain to see they would not believe a word of his story.

“What would you have me do now?” asks the Don, turning to us when the clamour had subsided, and he told us how he had tried to persuade them we were dancers he was taking for a show to the fair at Barcelona, which they, by our looks, would not believe, and especially that a man of such build as Jack Dawson could foot it, even to please such heavy people as the English.

“What!” cries Jack.  “I can’t dance!  We will pretty soon put them to another complexion if they do but give us space and a fair trial.  You can strum a guitar, Kit, for I’ve heard you.  And Moll, my chick, do you dash the tears from your cheek and pluck up courage to show these Portugals what an English lass can do.”

The brigands agreeing to this trial, the table is shoved back to give us a space in the best light, and our judges seat themselves conveniently.  Moll brushes her eyes (to a little murmur of sympathy, as I thought), and I, striking out the tune, Jack, with all the magnificence of a king, takes her hand and leads her out to a French pavan; and sure no one in the world ever stepped it more gracefully than our poor little Moll (now put upon her mettle), nor more lightly than Dawson, so that every rascal in our audience was won to admiration, clapping hands and shouting “Hola!” when it was done.  And this warming us, we gave ’em next an Italian coranto, and after that, an English pillow dance; and, in good faith, had they all been our dearest friends, these dirty fellows could not have gone more mad with delight.  And then Moll and her father sitting down to fetch their breath, a dispute arose among the brigands which we were at a loss to understand, until Don Sanchez explained that a certain number would have it we were real dancers, but that another party, with Don Lopez, maintained these were but court dances, which only proved the more we were of high quality to be thus accomplished.

“We’ll convince ’em yet, Moll, with a pox of their doubts,” cries Dawson, starting to his feet again.  “Tell ’em we will give ’em a stage dance of a nymph and a wild man, Senor, with an excuse for our having no costume but this.  Play us our pastoral, Kit.  And sing you your ditty of ‘Broken Heart,’ Moll, in the right place, that I may get my wind for the last caper.”