I am no man to play tricks on a friend. So take your warning.’
“I thought Fergus would die laughing.
“‘Well, well, well,’ said he, ‘you old dough-face! Struck too, are you? That’s great! But you’re too late. Francesca tells me that Anabela talks of nothing but me, day and night. Of course, I’m awfully obliged to you for making that chin-music to her of evenings. But, do you know, I’ve an idea that I could have done it as well myself.’
“‘Mrs. Judson Tate,’ says I. ‘Don’t forget the name. You’ve had the use of my tongue to go with your good looks, my boy. You can’t lend me your looks; but hereafter my tongue is my own. Keep your mind on the name that’s to be on the visiting cards two inches by three and a half—“Mrs. Judson Tate.” That’s all.’
“‘All right,’ says Fergus, laughing again. ‘I’ve talked with her father, the alcalde, and he’s willing. He’s to give a baile to-morrow evening in his new warehouse. If you were a dancing man, Jud, I’d expect you around to meet the future Mrs. McMahan.’
“But on the next evening, when the music was playing loudest at the Alcalde Zamora’s baile, into the room steps Judson Tate in new white linen clothes as if he were the biggest man in the whole nation, which he was.
“Some of the musicians jumped off the key when they saw my face, and one or two of the timidest señoritas let out a screech or two. But up prances the alcalde and almost wipes the dust off my shoes with his forehead. No mere good looks could have won me that sensational entrance.
“‘I hear much, Señor Zamora,’ says I, ‘of the charm of
