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THE SUN ALSO RISES
187
I stood up. Romero rose, too.
"Sit down," I said. "I must go and find our friends and bring them here."
He looked at me. It was a final look to ask if it were understood. It was understood all right.
"Sit down," Brett said to him. "You must teach me Spanish."
He sat down and looked at her across the table. I went out. The hard-eyed people at the bull-fighter table watched me go. It was not pleasant. When I came back and looked in the café, twenty minutes later, Brett and Pedro Romero were gone. The coffee-glasses and our three empty cognac-glasses were on the table. A waiter came with a cloth and picked up the glasses and mopped off the table.
