for a dog's supper, his son Diego was a laggard fool. Thus the old fellow mumbled.
Ingratitude everywhere! and had not he, "the Admiral"—"the Admiral of Mosquito Land," as damnable street-songs miscalled him, he whimpered, in a petulant gust of self-pity—had not he found out at last a way by sea to the provinces of the Great Khan and the treasures of Cipango? Give him another fleet, and he would demonstrate what malignant fools were his enemies. He would convert the Khan from Greek heresies; or else let the Holy Inquisition be established in Cipango, the thumbscrew and the stake be fittingly utilized there ad majorem Dei gloriam—all should redound to the credit of King Philip, both temporal and celestial. And what wealth, too, a capable emissary would bring back to his Majesty—what cargoes of raw silks, of gold and precious gems, ravished from Kanbalu and Taidu, those famed marvelous cities!. . . But there was only ingratitude and folly everywhere, and the broth was cold. . . .
Thus the broken adventurer, Cristoforo Colombo, mumbled. He had doubled the world's
