"
Pablo wiped away with a saddle-colored paw a benignant and paternal
smile. He wagged his head and scuffed his heel in the dirt. He
feasted his soul on the sensation that was his.
"Those boy hee's peench--" a dramatic pause. Then:
"Eef you tell to Don Miguel those things I tol' you--_Santa
Marias_--Hees cut my throat."
"We will respect your confidence, Pablo," Mrs. Parker hastened to
assure the traitor.
"All right. Then I tol' to you what those boy peench--weeth hees thumb
an' thees fingair. _Mira_. Like thees."
"Cut out the pantomime and disgorge the information, for the love of
heaven," Parker pleaded.
"He peench"--Pablo's voice rose to a pseudo-feminine screech--"the
cheek of"--he whirled upon Mrs. Parker and transfixed her with a
tobacco-stained index finger--"Senorita Parker, so help me, by Jimmy,
eef I tell you some lies I hope I die pretty queeck."
Both the Parkers stared at the old man blankly. He continued:
"He peench--queeck--like that. He don' know hee's goin' for
peench--hees all time queeck like that--he don' theenk. But after
those boy hee's peench the cheen of those girl, hee's got red in the
face like black-bird's weeng. 'Oh,' he say, 'I am sky-blue eedete-ot,'
an' he run away queeck before he forget heemself an' peench those girl
some more."
John Parker turned gravely to his wife. "Old hon," he murmured softly,
"Don Mike Farrel is a pinch-bug.
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