Big Pepe grinned. "That is your right," he said. "This is my nephew Miguelito, and this is Juan Antonio Martinez. They're school teachers." The last he said with almost boastful pride.
The teachers were both slim lads in their early twenties. Hall shook their hands and got into the back of the car. "Let's drive out to the beach and talk," he said.
"No," Miguelito said. "It would not be wise. There are too many strangers there."
His colleague grunted. "Your pistol, Miguelito," he said. "Take it out of your pocket. It is digging a new hole in my arse."
"They talk that way all the time," Pepe said, tolerantly. "But they are very educated."
"I am sorry if I talk like a worker," Juan Antonio said to Pepe. "My father was only a miner. I apologize, Your Eminence."
"He is joking," Pepe said. "Miguelito, you are a Bachelor of Arts. Tell me, do workers joke, too?"
"Quiet, both of you," Miguelito said. "Compañero Hall will think we're all crazy."
Hall laughed. "I've seen boys like you before," he said.
"We were too young to go then," Juan Antonio said. "But if they try it here, the streets of San Hermano will run with blood before we let the fascists win."