Don Jose. The house is your own, senor: do as you will. This way,
Don Alexandro. [Exit, in door L., DON JOSE and MORTON, sen.

Starbottle. "Do as you will." Well, I don't understand Spanish
ceremony, but that's certainly good English. (Going to table.)
Eh! (Smelling decanter.) Robinson County whiskey! Umph! I have
observed that the spirit of American institutions, sir, are already
penetrating the--er--er--superstitions of--er--foreign and effete
civilizations. (Pours out glass of whiskey, and drinks; pours
again, and observes MANUELA watching him respectfully.) What the
Devil is that girl looking at? Eh! (Puts down glass.)

Manuela (aside). He is fierce and warlike. Mother of God! But he
is not so awful as that gray-haired caballero, who looks like a
fasting St. Anthony. And he loves aguardiente: he will pity poor
Diego the more. (Aloud.) Ahem! Senor. (Courtesies coquettishly.)

Col. Starbottle (aside). Oh, I see. Ged! not a bad-looking girl,--
a trifle dark, but Southern, and--er--tropical. Ged, Star, Star,
this won't do, sir; no, sir. The filial affections of Aeneas are
not to be sacrificed through the blandishments of--er--Dodo--I mean
a Dido.

Manuela. O senor, you are kind, you are good. You are an
Americano, one of a great nation. You will feel sympathy for a
poor young man,--a mere muchacho,--one of your own race, who was a
vaquero here, senor. He has been sent away from us here disgraced,
alone, hungry, perhaps penniless. (Wipes her eyes.)

Col. Starbottle. The Devil! Another prodigal. (Aloud.) My dear,