"Perhaps you'd better go," Don Miguel suggested, weakly. "Pablo is a
trifle jealous of the job of waiting on me. We'll iron everything out
in the morning. Good-night, Murray."

"_Buenas noches, mono mio_," Pablo grunted.

"I have a slight knowledge of the Spanish tongue, sir," Murray
protested. "This blackamoor has insulted me, sir. Just now he said,
in effect, 'Good-night, monkey mine.' Earlier in the evening, he
attempted to murder Mr. Parker's guest, Mr. Okada."

"It's a pity he didn't succeed," Don Miguel replied, and drew a dollar
from his pocket. "You are very kind, Murray, but hereafter I shall not
require your attendance. Pablo, give Murray his pistol."

Pablo returned the weapon.

"She ees one of those leetle lady-pistols, Don Miguel. She can't kill
somebody if she try," he declared, contemptuously. Murray pouched the
dollar gratefully and beat a hurried retreat.

From under his denim jumper, Pablo brought forth a pint of claret.

"When the damned proheebeetion she's come, you father hee's sell fifty
cow and buy plenty booze," he explained. He broke off into Spanish.
"This wine, we stored in the old bakery, and your father entrusted me
with the key. It is true. Although it is not lawful to permit one of
my blood to have charge of wines and liquors, nevertheless, your
sainted father reposed great confidence in me. Since his death, I have