"Very good," Leon answered. "Hilloh, Crevel!" he shouted, raising his voice, "come hither."
At this summons the posadero, who was standing at the end of the room, and had not lost a syllable of the conversation between the two smugglers while pretending to be busy with his household duties, advanced with a servile bow.
He was a fellow of about forty years of age, sturdy built, and with a red face. His carbuncled nose did not speak at all in favour of his temperance, and his crafty and hypocritical manners and his foxy eyes rendered him a complete specimen of one of those men branded in the French colonies by the name of BANIANS, utter scoundrels, who swarm in America, and who, in the shadow of an almost honest trade, carry on a dozen others which expose them to the scaffold. True fishers in troubled waters, who take with both hands, and are ready for anything if they are well paid.
This worthy landlord was an old acquaintance of the smugglers, who had for a long time been able to appreciate him at his full value, and had employed him successfully in many ugly affairs; hence he came up to them with that low and meaning smile which is always found stereotyped on the ignoble face of these low class traffickers.
"What do you desire, señores?" he asked, as he respectfully doffed the cotton nightcap of equivocal whiteness which covered his greasy poll.
"To pay you, master rogue," his countryman replied, as he tapped him amicably on the shoulder; "how much do I owe you?"
"Fourteen reals, captain."
"The deuce! you sell your adulterated Pisco rather high."
"Well," said the other, assuming a pious look and raising his eyes to heaven, "the excise dues are so heavy."
"That is true," said Leon; "but you do not pay them."