The Spaniard showed his teeth, and fell back a step.
"De young señor speak-a ver' plain," he said.
"It is my way. Mazaro, we may as well understand each other first as last. You are a scoundrel, and you're out for the dollars. Now, it is possible you can make more money by serving me than in any other way. If you can help me, I will pay you well."
Mazaro looked ready to sink a knife into Frank's heart a moment before, but he suddenly thawed. With the utmost politeness, he said:
"I do not think-a I know what de señor mean. If he speak-a litt'l plainer, mebbe I ondarstan'."
"Sit down, Mazaro."
The Spaniard took a seat at the table.
"Now," said Frank, quietly, "order what you wish to drink, and I will pay for it. I never drink myself, and I never carry much money with me nights, but I have enough to pay for your drink."
"De señor is ver' kind," bowed Manuel, and he ordered a drink, which was brought by a villainous-looking old woman.
Frank paid, and, when Mazaro was sipping the liquid, he leaned forward and said: