ealous
wives. "Hey, the Rector! Hey, the prize-_lanudo_! A _toreador_ for you,
when you come home! The devil will want you, for the horns you'll have!
Is it Jersey or Holstein? Or just any old steer, except a short-horn!
And we're telling the truth, for once!"

Tonet grew uneasy. He was in plain sight of the throng. Some one might
carry the joke too far! But Dolores showed herself a true daughter of
_tio_ Paella! She laughed and laughed, as though the best compliments of
the sailing had been for her.

And the Rector was delighted. He had always thought himself the most
popular man in town! "And what else have you got to say, mutton-heads?"
he challenged, as his boat glided slowly along the shore, his moon-face
beaming over the varnished stern of the _Mayflower_. "What else have you
got to say!" That bravado gave impetus to the pointed insolence on the
Breakwater. "Look at them over there? Tonet is with Dolores! Tonet is
with Dolores! _Lanudo!_ Cuckold! He's leaving a happy home to-night! But
Tonet will be there! No vacation for Dolores!"

The Rector let go the tiller and stood up on the stern, livid with
anger! "Pigs, hogs, grunters! _Morrals! Cochinos!_"

It was all very well to make fun of him. But this bringing the name of a
woman in, and his brother's too, was going a bit too strong, a bit too
strong!

CHAPTER IX

"PROOFS! PROOFS! ROSARIO!"

God had poor folks in mind that year! The women of the Cabanal, crowding
the beach in the afternoon, were sure of that. The boats had been out
two nights and a day, and they were already coming home. The stiff
horizon line was dotted with sails, in pairs, the _bou_-teams hurrying
shoreward before a favoring breeze, like couples of doves yoked by a
belt at the water-line. The oldest women along shore could not remember
such fishing! Lord, the fish just seemed to be sitting there in solid
packs, waiting patiently to be scooped out. The poorest people in town
would have plenty to eat for once in their lives.

The boats ran in and anchored a few yards from the surf, lowering their
big sails, and swinging round to head the wind, gently, gracefully,
pitching. Mobs of dirty calico skirts, red faces and tangled heads
rushed to the water's edge in front of each team, the women shrieking,
cursing, quarreling, arguing, as to whom the fish should go. Overboard
the "cats" jumped into the water that reached their waists, and the
other men followed. A straight line of moving