"Who's going to tell 'em?" demanded the other, vexed. "If you don't, nobody else will."
"Whether they ever know it or not," said Antonio, "I tell you I'd rather you should pluck out one of my eyes than tear down those azulejos."
"Then you deserve to have been born one-eyed," retorted Mr. Crowberry, thoroughly aroused. "I never heard such tomfoolery in my life. This is what I get for trying to do you a good turn. Gad! As if you didn't put enough of a wet blanket on us all when you proposed our healths! I'll tell you what it is. There's too much damnable gush in this hole of a Portugal, and that's why you're all beggars."
Antonio was about to reply hotly; but the wine-merchant stopped him.
"No," he said, "I take that back. We won't quarrel. But you've upset me badly. I go away on Thursday or Friday. We've only one clear day to fix this lease. Don't be a fool."
"If the azulejos cannot be spared," replied Antonio, terribly agitated, "I cannot become Sir Percy's tenant."
"But, my ridiculous friend, look here. Sir Percy doesn't want a tenant—neither you nor anybody else. He's leasing you the vineyards to oblige me. D'ye expect me to go and make conditions when he's doing you a favor?"
Antonio began pacing up and down, with bent head and hands clasped behind his back. He strode, six steps this way and six steps back, over and over again, with a feverish tread, like an animal in a cage. After a full minute he threw up his head, and said:
"Do me one more kindness. Give me till to-morrow. In the afternoon I will come to the guest-house, to bring a little bowl for Miss Kaye-Templeman. Till then, I beg that you will not say a word of this to anyone?"
Waving down Mr. Crowberry's wrath with an imperious hand, he plunged under the orange trees. The Englishman took a couple of steps after him; then he shrugged his shoulders and strolled back to the house.