“Beautiful boy!” screamed the spectators. “He has Villasca’s sword! Keep it! keep it! He is a great espada!”
And then, in their wild enthusiasm, the crowd began to fling presents to Frank—hats, canes, flowers, cigars, money, anything, in fact, that their hands found.
“Take them,” directed Zuera—“take them and bow! The people will be offended if you do not.”
So Frank picked up the money, the cigars and the flowers. The money and cigars he put in his pockets. Zuera caught up the hats and tossed them back to their owners, laughing merrily and calling to each one. Frank bowed his thanks, feeling his face flushing and his heart leaping. It is not strange that he was somewhat bewildered, for his was an experience such as never before befell an American youth.
At last they came to the box of the alcalde, and Frank saw the magistrate and several personages of authority in a most excited discussion. At first the boy was not noticed, but the attention of the chief magistrate was called to him after a time. The dignitary turned and glared down at the lad, and a sudden hush settled over the vast throng of spectators.
“Boy, who are you?”
“I am Frank Merriwell, señor.”
“English?”
“No, señor, American.”
Frank uttered the words distinctly, with a feeling of pride, and yet not in an offensive or boasting manner.