"Oh! he is a matador, is he?" said I, looking at him with more than
all my eyes.

"No, not exactly that;--not of necessity. He is probably a mayo. A
fellow that dresses himself smart for fairs, and will be seen hanging
about with the bull-fighters. What would be a sporting fellow in
England--only he won't drink and curse like a low man on the turf
there. Come, shall we go and speak to him?"

"I can't talk to him," said I, diffident of my Spanish. I had
received lessons in England from Maria Daguilar; but six weeks is
little enough for making love, let alone the learning of a foreign
language.

"Oh! I'll do the talking. You'll find the language easy enough
before long. It soon becomes the same as English to you, when you
live among them." And then Johnson, walking up to the stranger,
accosted him with that good-natured familiarity with which a
thoroughly nice fellow always opens a conversation with his inferior.
Of course I could not understand the words which were exchanged; but
it was clear enough that the "mayo" took the address in good part,
and was inclined to be communicative and social.

"They are all of pure gold," said Johnson, turning to me after a
minute, making as he spoke a motion with his head to show the
importance of the information.

"Are they indeed?" said I. "Where on earth did a fellow like that
get them?" Whereupon Johnson again returned to his conversation with