"They will have it anyway," replied Felipillo.
"Demonio!" retorted Rogelio, testily. "But they will value a formal permit. I'll give it. Bring hither their chiefs to-morrow night. Smuggle them in, dost understand? and I'll wag a parchment before their eyes with a seal and ribbons on it. Thou'lt see! A liberality with chicha will make the bargain easy. What sayst thou? Wilt deal with them for me? I know not the language."
Felipillo considered long, to the veedor's impatience, and said at last, "It would do it, Señor, that is certain, but—"
"Well, but what?" demanded Rogelio.
The youth shook his head. "One hundred and fifty castellanos, Señor—"
The veedor wrenched himself about in his chair. "Oh, infierno! 'T is princely—princely, I tell thee! It would brush thee up, stake thy games, reinstate thee among the ladies! It might be thy making."
Again Felipillo shook his head.
"Murder and arson!" yelped the veedor, beginning to perspire. "Thou 'rt grasping, boy! One hundred and fifty castellanos! Oh, Madre! Then make it two hundred."
Felipillo arose with a shrug, one of his acquirements from the Spaniards. It enraged the veedor.
"Then go to the devil!" he piped. "'T is all thou'lt get. Two hundred not enough! Oh, my stars!"