“There is nothing that these Englishmen can do,” lisped Patiño, “but eat and sleep—eat and sleep——”
“And fight, Señor,” said I. “You have forgotten the Great Griffin.”
And as De Baçan laughed at him, the little man hid his face in his mug in chagrin.
“Well, what of it, Englishman?” said Diego, smiling. “Let me tell you that the most of life lies not in fighting. There is one thing,”—and he paused significantly,—“one thing you fat-headed English don’t know—nor ever will. And do you care what that is? It’s woman! No more notion of the art of loving have you than a row of marlinespikes, no more warmth of temper than a dolphinfish! Pouf! You live too far away from the sun to have much success with ladies, Señor Killigrew.”
I foresaw now that finding other means unavailing to try my temper, he meant again to speak of Mademoiselle, knowing that here he had a never-failing source of rancor. I glanced to where Job Goddard stood at the doorway and a look passed between us. Then he went out into the shadow and disappeared down the path.
I knew not whither Goddard had gone, and wishing to gain time, said with as good grace as I could summon,
“The Spanish have ever had the repute for great courtliness of manner, Don de Baçan.”
“You speak in ignorance, my fledgling. It is no question of manner, but of a thousand things you beef-eaters have no notion of.”
“Aye,” said Patiño, ruefully, twisting his mustache, “and their women are as bad as themselves.”