Senor Allen is lucky to get off so easily." Jack held a match unlighted in his fingers while he studied the face of Jose.

The tone of him had jarred, but his features were wiped clean of any expression save faint boredom; and his fingers, plucking a plaintive fragment of a fandango from the strings, belied the sarcasm Jack had suspected.

Don Andres himself, at that moment coming eagerly across from the hut at the end of the row, saved the necessity of replying.
"Welcome home, amigo mio!" cried the don, hurrying up the steps, sombrero in hand.

"Never has sight of a horse pleased me as when Diego led yours to the stable.

Thrice welcome--since you bring your friend to honor my poor household with his presence." No need to measure guardedly those tones, or that manner.