This refrain, added to others of the same tenor, began to weary
Manuel. One day the salesman heaped the insults and the vilification
upon him more plentifully than ever. They had sent the boy out for two
coffees, and he was slow in returning; on that particular day the
delay was not due to any fault of his, for he had been kept waiting a
long time.

"They ought to put a pack-saddle on you, you ass!" shouted the agent
as Manuel entered.

"You won't be the one to do it!" retorted the boy impudently, as he
placed the cups upon the table.

"I won't? Do you want to see me?"

"Yes, I do."

The salesman got up and kicked Manuel in the shins; the poor boy saw
stars. He gave a cry of pain and then, furious, seized a plate and
sent it flying at the agent's head; the latter ducked and the
projectile crossed the dining-room, crashed through a window pane and
fell into the courtyard, where it smashed with a racket. The salesman
grabbed one of the coffee-pots that was filled with coffee and milk
and hurled it at Manuel with such good aim that it struck the boy in
the face; the youth, blinded with rage and by the coffee and milk,
rushed upon his enemy, cornered him, and took revenge for the insults
and blows with an endless succession of kicks and punches.

"He's killing me! He's killing me!" shrieked the agent in feminine
wails.