A knock came at the door.

"Aqui!" (here) Tom answered.

The door opened slowly. A man servant of perhaps twenty-five years,
attired in clean white clothes, but bare-footed, stood in the
doorway, bowing very low.

"_Buenos dias_, _caballeros_!" (good morning, gentlemen) was his
greeting.

Tom invited him to enter.

"_Caballeros_," announced the _peon_, "I am your servant, your
slave, your dog! My name is Nicolas."

"How do you do, Nicolas," responded Tom, holding out his hand,
which the Mexican appeared too dazed, or too respectful to take.
"We may find a servant useful. But we never kept slaves, and
we wouldn't dream of calling any man a dog."

"I am your dog, _caballeros_," Nicolas asserted. "I am yours to do
with as you wish. Beat me, if I do not perform my work well."

"But I wouldn't beat a dog. Almost any dog is too fine a fellow
to be served in that fashion," Tom explained.

"_Caballeros_, I am here to receive your pleasure and commands
concerning breakfast."