and made his way to the inn
where Manolo was wont to meet his rough friends. There he found him,
indeed, gaming with cards.

"I've got something to say to you," said he.

The young man threw his cards on the table and got up. He was tall, slim
and good-looking; and in the thin line of his lips and the penetrant
gaze of his greenish eyes lay something bold, defiant.

The two men went out into the street, and, saying no word, walked to the
outskirts of the town. When Amadeo thought they had come to a good
place, he stopped and looked his son fair in the face.

"I've brought you out here," said he, "to tell you you're never coming
back to my house. Understand me?"

Manolo nodded "Yes."

"I'm throwing you out," continued the old man. "Get that, too! I'm
throwing you out, because I won't deal with a dog like you. I won't have
one anywhere around! I tell you this not as father to son, but as one
man to another, so you can come back at me if you want to. Understand?
I'm ready for you! That's why I've brought you 'way out here."

As he spoke, slowly, his stern spirit caught fire. His cheeks grew pale,
and in his jacket pockets his fists knotted. Manolo's savage blood began
to boil, as well.

"Don't make me say anything, you!" he flung at his father.

He turned as if to walk away. His voice, his gesture, the scornful shrug
of his shoulders, with which he seemed to underscore his words, all were
those of a ruffian and a bully. Anybody would have said that the tough,
swaggering silversmith lived again, in him. Zureda controlled his anger,
and began once more:

"If you want to fight, you'll be a fool to wait till to-morrow. I'm
ready for it, now."

"Crazy, you?" demanded the youth.

"No!"

"Well, you act it!"

"You're wrong. I know all about _you_--I know you've been beating your
mother. And you can't pay for a thing like that even with every drop of
your blood. No, sir! Not even the last drop of pig's blood you've got in
your body would pay for that!"

Amadeo Zureda was afraid of himself. He had begun to shiver. All the
hate that, long ago, had flung him upon Berlanga, now had burst forth
again in a fresh, strong, overwhelming torrent.

Suddenly Manolo stepped up to his father and seized him by the lapel.

"You going to shut up?" he snarled, in rage. "Or are you bound to drive
me to it?"

Zureda's answer was a smash in the face. Then the two men fell upon each
other, first with their fists, presently with