"I know it, you blessed old scalawag!" Don Mike replied in English, and
ruffled the grizzled old head before passing on to the expectant
Carolina, who folded him tightly in her arms and wept soundlessly when
he kissed her leathery cheek. While he was murmuring words of comfort
to her, Pablo got up on his feet and recovered his hat.

"You see," he said to Kay, in a confidential tone, "Don Miguel José
Maria Federico Noriaga Farrel loves us. Never no woman those boy kees
since hees mother die twenty year before. So Carolina have the great
honor like me. Yes!"

"Oh, but you haven't seen him kiss his sweetheart," Kay bantered the
old man--and then blushed, in the guilty knowledge that her badinage
had really been inspired by a sudden desire to learn whether Don Mike
had a sweetheart or not. Pablo promptly and profanely disillusioned
her.

"Those boy, he don' have some sweethearts, mees lady. He's pretty
parteecular." He paused a moment and looked her in the face meaningly.
"Those girls in thees country--pah! Hee's pretty parteecular, those
boy."

His childish arrogance and consuming pride in his master stirred the
girl's sense of humor.

"I think your Don Mike is _too_ particular," she whispered.
"Personally, I wouldn't marry him on a bet."

His slightly bloodshot eyes flickered with rage. "You never get a
chance," he assured her. "Those boy is of the _gente_. An' we don'