before
had his smile been so sardonic. "As you say, every one should be
satisfied with such an arrangement and, let me say, it is one that would
greatly please me, but as I told you before, Mr. Hanson, it cannot be.
My daughter must keep her contract with Sweeney."

At white heat, Hanson rose and pushed back his chair. "Hell!" he cried.
"What am I up against, anyway! Give some people the earth and it
wouldn't suit 'em. But you can take this from me, Gallito," he leaned
forward and pounded his fist on the table, "I don't take my answer from
you. We'll see what the Black Pearl has got to say. The Black Pearl
smirched by going out with me!" He laughed aloud.

He fell back frightened as Gallito half rose from his chair, and then,
to his unbounded surprise, the Spaniard sat down again and softly rubbed
his hands together. Hanson had a fleeting and most disturbing impression
of the old man gloating over some secret and pleasant prospect.

Lolita had balanced herself on the edge of the table and Gallito bent
forward and scratched her head, making little clucking noises in his
throat the while: "Our guest is a great poker player, Lolita, he
understands how to make a bluff, but," again that single grating note of
a laugh, "assure him, my Lolita, that he will be cold-decked."

Again Hanson was almost betrayed into making his threat then and there.
He leaned forward and shook his forefinger under the Spaniard's eyes,
his face was purple, but just in time he remembered himself, closed his
mouth and drew back.

"Bob, Bob," croaked Lolita, "mi jasmin Pearl, mi corazon."

"A most intelligent bird, you see, Mr. Hanson," observed Gallito, with
saturnine politeness.

Hanson turned away impatiently. "I will see your daughter this
afternoon," he said.

Gallito had begun to roll a fresh cigarette, but now, checking himself
abruptly, he threw a long comprehensive glance at the cloudless brazen
sky, and then, squinting his eyes, studied for a second or two the
equally brazen desert.

"I think not, Mr. Hanson," he said, with assured finality in his voice.
"I do not think you will see my daughter to-day. What? Going so soon?
Another glass of cognac? No. Adios, then. Adios."

CHAPTER VI

Hanson walked away, more disturbed in mind by his interview with Gallito
than he would have thought possible an hour or two earlier. Something in
the finality of the Spaniard's voice when making those last predictions,
his evidently sincer