"Wan? 'Oo's 'e?"
"A great Spaniard—noted for his fidelity—like me. Shall I sing you another verse? Now, I want you to imagine it: you're a Spanish lady—at your lattice—an old castle—mountains behind—the moon, big as a cart-wheel—blue night—and down below, among the roses—me." His voice sank almost to a whisper. Then, brightly, "Got it?"
"Ye-es! 'Ow you can talk! Better than the 'Family 'Ear-old,' any day!"
The guitar resumed its playing and the Marquis sang:
Senor-ee-ta, Senor-ee-ta,
I love-a your hands and your feet-a.
It will mostly be bliss when we hug an' we kiss
Lak' dis-a, lak' dat-a, lak' dat-a, lak' dis!
Senor-ee-ta, Carmin-ee-ta,
I t'ink-a you hard-a to beat-a!
An' I lov' you each day more dan ever can say—
Stupendo-crescendo—Ping-pong! (The guitar:)
Pom-pom-pom!
Again came a long silence, filled with whispering. And,
"I do love yer, Marky!" sighed Alice softly.
Hector's impulse was to laugh—till he remembered Nellie Lavine. That evening he spoke to Bland—Bland, who had been with him when he arrested 'Red-hot' Dan and was now his Sergeant-Major:
"This Humphries is a bit of a Lothario, isn't he?"
"Well, sir," responded Bland, smiling after the fashion of privileged Sergeant-Majors, "when he was with me at Slide-out, he had twenty signed pictures of girls,—real girls, not actresses—tacked round his bunk."