SUTRO’S EXHIBITION.
Before the entertainment really began, Sutro Vives gave a little private exhibition on his own account; and his dashings to and fro across the arena, directly in Lord Plunkett’s point of view, were intended to excite that gentleman’s curiosity and admiration,—which object was accomplished.
“Gorgeous. Old Spaniard. Silver. Robbed a mine.”
Steenie, mounted on her piebald Tito, was standing close to the seat erected for the proprietor, and explained for his benefit: “Oh, Sutro has had all those things for ever so long; since he was a young man, I b’lieve. He said he would show you what an ‘old Ca’fornian caballero was like!’ See! He’s all red and yellow and white. Listen to the tinkle of the silver chains among his trappings! Isn’t he proud as proud—my Sutro? My father says his vanity would be ’musing if it weren’t so ’thetic.”
“Pathetic, dear;” corrected Mr. Calthorp, guided by her voice to her side.
“Pathetic? Why?” demanded Lord Plunkett.
“Because although his family was once wealthy, almost beyond compute, this poor old fellow is reduced to live a dependent on the lands that were his fathers’, now a stranger’s. His shrivelled body in that gay attire is but a fitting type of his changed fortunes.”
“Why! Pshaw! Hm-m,” commented his lordship, uneasily, distressed, as he ever was, by thought of any other’s unhappiness.
“But, Papa dear, isn’t he always talking about his ‘estate’? He says that he is richer still than anybody hereabout; and that if he wants money all he has to do is—something or other!”