finish my cigarette.

PIKE. Guess I better ask.

[HORACE is crossing, meaning to get away through the grove.]

PIKE [addressing him]. Hey, there! Can you--

[HORACE, proceeding, pays no attention.]

PIKE [lifting his voice]. Excuse me, son, ain't you an American?

[More decidedly, to MARIANO.]

Waiter, tell that gentleman I'm speaking to him.

MARIANO [to HORACE]. M'sieu', that gentleman speak with you.

HORACE [agitated and angry]. What gentleman?

[MARIANO bows toward PIKE.]

PIKE [at same time genially]. I thought from your looks you must be an
American.

HORACE [turning haughtily]. Are you speaking to _me_?

PIKE [good-humoredly]. Well, I shouldn't be surprised. Ain't you an
American?