"Nay then, nay," good-humouredly interrupted the other. "In these latitudes it is not well for health to heat thyself for nought. Keep thy passion for the red rascals, who are so lazy that they'll die rather than live and work. I imply nothing to thy detriment. Wert thou placed as I am, then wouldst thou also have a wealthy father at thy back, to help thee to maintain that rank out here it should pleasure thee to claim. Meantime, I do no more than half of those around me, and with better right; for I am no released felon, and I deal honestly by those I trade with. I will deal honestly with you. Twice have I had advices from my father, and from good master Sancho, that I should try to secure you for a companion and aid, should you elect to remain here on the Admiral's return to Spain. And I like you at first sight well enough to be willing to take their advice. Will you stay with me then, or shall I help you to find friends elsewhere?"
Montoro looked at the man from head to foot slowly and earnestly, as he lounged there before him, so great a contrast to himself, and then as slowly and earnestly said—
"I agree to stay—for a time."
"Umph!" muttered the self-styled Don Alonzo, somewhat taken aback in his turn. "Umph! my noble youngster, methinks from your air you suppose the obligation to be rather more mutual than I esteem it. You are a beggar and friendless, and I—am not."
However, Montoro was not now so friendless as his new colleague assumed. Had he returned to Spain, even there he might now have been found some sort of employment, and out in the Colony the spirited young adventurer, with a pair of hands both able and willing to work, could have easily found some more indolent seeker after wealth willing to go into partnership with him. But Rachel de Diego was sheltered under the roof of the spice-merchant, and her son had a hidden eagerness that he might be able to find shelter under the roof of the spice-merchant's son. It was to that motive that 'Don Alonzo' owed the easy settlement of his agreement with his new young partner, and not, as he imagined, to the promising air of luxurious comfort in his surroundings. That offered more allurements to a third party to the affair.
Don threatened for a few minutes to upset the amiable arrangements between his real owner and his self-adopted master, for poor Don had very faint notions of the rights of property and ownership, and Don was thirsty and Don was hungry, and, moreover, Don was as fond of grapes as any Christian Don, real or pretended, to be found in or out of Spain. All of a sudden, while Montoro was gazing thoughtfully out at the silver line of distant sea, and Don Alonzo was muttering to himself the remark mentioned above, tired Don caught sight of a piled-up dish of grapes on a table in the verandah. He licked his dry lips, and went on eyeing them. Then he licked his dry lips again, and ventured upon a small whine. That sound recalled Montoro's wandering wits so far that he turned round and nodded to his four-footed friend, and said dreamily—
"Yes, yes. All right, good old Don."
That was enough. Don was in that state of longing that a very small amount of encouragement was enough to induce him to help himself to the desired feast, and before either of his companions knew well what he was about, he had bounded up to the table, scrunched up one juicy, deliciously refreshing bunch of grapes, and had a second in his mouth about to be treated in the same way. But "there's many a slip 'twixt the cup and the lip," and in this instance there proved to be a slip 'twixt the lip and the throat.
Don Alonzo quickly became aware of what was going on, and, seizing a heavy bottle, he flung it with full force angrily at the dog; and it hit, not the dog, but the dog's champion, happily only a touch, and then fell crashing on the floor of the verandah.
The next instant Montoro's first dash forward to save the dog was followed by a second to save Don Alonzo; for the huge animal had made a furious spring at his antagonist, accompanied by a growl that gave full promise of his intentions. Montoro's most resolute and stern command was needed before the hound was brought to crouch down by his side, with red-lit eyes still glaring at his unrecognized owner.