"Senor," cried Mazaro, "I swear-a to you that all-a what I sayin'
ees-a"--

He stopped aghast. Galahad and Pauline stood before him.

"Is what?" asked the blue-eyed man, with a look of quiet delight on his
face, such as Mazaro instantly remembered to have seen on it one night
when Galahad was being shot at in the Sucking Calf Restaurant in St.
Peter Street.

The table was between them, but Mazaro's hand went upward toward the
back of his coat-collar.

"Ah, ah!" cried the Irishman, shaking his head with a broader smile and
thrusting his hand threateningly into his breast; "don't ye do that!
just finish yer speech."

"Was-a notthin'," said the Cuban, trying to smile back.

"Yer a liur," said Galahad.

"No," said Mazaro, still endeavoring to smile through his agony; "z-was
on'y tellin' Senor D'Hemecourt someteen z-was t-thrue."

"And I tell ye," said Galahad, "ye'r a liur, and to be so kind an' get
yersel' to the front stoop, as I'm desiruz o' kickin' ye before the
crowd."

"Madjor!" cried D'Hemecourt--