“Anything for which the caballero will ask shall be brought,” replied Nicolas, with another bow.

“How about a steak, Tom?” Harry asked, turning to his chum.

“Pardon, excellency, but we have no such thing here,” Nicolas interposed, meekly.

“Eggs?” Harry guessed.

“Excellency, we shall hope to have some eggs by to-morrow,”

“Harry, you idiot, why didn’t you ask for mince pie and doughnuts, too?” laughed Reade.

“Nicolas, my boy, the trouble with me,” Harry explained, “is that chocolate and rolls will never hold my soul and body together for more than an hour at a time.  Chocolate and rolls by all means, but help us out a bit.  What can we call for that is more hearty.”

“There are tortillas to be had sometimes,” the servant answered.  “Also, sometimes, frijoles.”

“They both sound good,” Harry assented vaguely.  “Bring us some.”

“Caballeros, you shall be served with the speed at which the eagle flies!” exclaimed the servant.  With a separate bow to each he withdrew, softly closing the door after him.

“Now Harry, let’s hustle into some clothes,” urged Tom.  “Since we are to eat here mine clothes will be the thing.  Hustle into them!”

Bred in the ways of the camps, ten minutes later Tom and Harry were washed, dressed and otherwise tidy in every respect.

“I’ve a mind to go outdoors and get some glimpses of the scenery for a few minutes,” Harry hinted.

“Don’t think of it.  You don’t want to come back to a cold breakfast.”

So both seated themselves, regretting the absence of morning newspapers.

Then the time began to drag.  Finally the delay became wearisome.

“I wonder how many people Nicolas is serving this morning?” murmured Hazelton, at last.

“Everyone in the house would be my guess,” laughed Tom.  Still time dragged by.

“What on earth will Don Luis think of us?” Harry grunted.

“There is only one thing for it, if this delay lasts any longer,” Tom answered.  “If this delay lasts much longer we shall have to put off breakfast until to-morrow and get to work.”

“Put off breakfast until to-morrow?” Hazelton gasped.  “That’s where I draw the line.  Before I’ll stir a step from here I must have at least food enough to grubstake a canary bird.”

Some minutes later, Nicolas rapped at the door.  He then entered, bearing a tray enveloped in snowy linen.  This tray he put down, then spread a tablecloth that he had brought over one arm.

“Will you be seated, caballeros?” he asked, respectfully, as he took his stand by the tray.  Then he whisked away the linen cover.  Gravely he set upon the table a pot of chocolate, two dainty cups and saucers and a plate containing four rolls.

“Where’s the butter, Nicolas?” asked Harry.

“Butter, caballero?  I did not understand that you wished it.  I will get it.  I will run all the way to the kitchen and back.”