“Chut!” says the Padre. “Speak in reverence of authorities, my son. You are both little rogues.”
“He'll resign!”
“It is possible,” says the official.
Craney lay on his back and thought a bit. Then he says to the official, “I'm thinking the keeper wouldn't mind resigning, supposing my friend Buckingham here went up and talked him over. He might go back to Spain, maybe. Maybe you don't know his popularity in this section, but I tell you this, he could make you plenty of trouble. You've got an idea he's going to be arrested and jailed and blackguarded by an alcalde. Well, he isn't, or these Mituas people of his will know why. Padre Filippo here, he'd always rather things were done peacefully.”
“Surely,” says the Padre, “surely.”
“You'd better let us arrange it. Besides, in that case it might interest you—say, ten dollars' worth of interest.”
“Fifteen,” says the other, very calm. “It is no affair of mine.”
Then I went up to the Torre Ananias, up to the lantern story where the keeper was looking over the sea and brooding.
“Senor,” I says, “why don't you go to Aragon and buy vineyards?”
“True,” he said quietly, “why not? But you have some reason for speaking, for suggesting.”