Handing George his stick and a military cape he carried easily over his left arm, he greeted Paul warmly, yet with a return of his old dominant manner.
"Glad to see you, Hathaway, and glad to see the boy has served you better than the last time. If I had known you were coming, I would have tried to get back in time to have breakfast with you. But your friends at 'Rosario'—I think they call it; in my time it was owned by Colonel Briones, and HE called it 'The Devil's Little Canyon'—detained me with some d—d civilities. Let's see—his name is Woods, isn't it? Used to sell rum to runaway sailors on Long Wharf, and take stores in exchange? Or was it Baker?—Judge Baker? I forget which. Well, sir, they wished to be remembered."
It struck Paul, perhaps unreasonably, that the colonel's indifference and digression were both a little assumed, and he asked abruptly,—
"And you fulfilled your mission?"
"I made the formal transfer, with the Mayor, of the property to Miss Arguello."
"To Miss Arguello?"
"To the Dona Maria Concepcion de Arguello de la Yerba Buena—to speak precisely," said the colonel, slowly. "George, you can take that hat to that blank hatter—what's his blanked name? I read it only yesterday in a list of the prominent citizens here—and tell him, with my compliments, that I want a GENTLEMAN'S mourning band around my hat, and not a child's shoelace. It may be HIS idea of the value of his own parents—if he ever had any—but I don't care for him to appraise mine. Go!"
As the door closed upon George, Paul turned to the colonel—
"Then am I to understand that you have agreed to her story?"
The colonel rose, picked up the decanter, poured out a glass of whiskey, and holding it in his hand, said:—