"They are," he said. "Here's another: where is your old coat? I mean the coat you were wearing last time you were here. It was nearly new."
Pardo started to his feet.
"Señor, this is intolerable," he cried. "I don't know what you mean, but your questions are an insult to a perfect gentleman." (Every Peruvian is a perfect gentleman.) "You will please to accept my resignation."
"Very well, Pardo: perhaps it is best." He handed him his week's wages.
"And let me tell you this, Señor Inglés," cried the man furiously as he pocketed the money: "a Peruvian gentleman does not take lightly such insults to his honour. You will repent this. You will feel the weight of my just anger. You treat me like a dog: dogs can bite. I will not accept your money."
He took it from his pocket and threw it on the floor. "You shall learn what it is to insult a perfect gentleman."
Snatching up his hat, he swept it round in ironical salutation, and flung out of the room.
CHAPTER VI
TIM IS HELD TO RANSOM
Tim had many acquaintances but few friends among the youth of San Rosario and the neighbourhood. He often felt the lack of a chum of his own age, and looked forward eagerly to the time, now drawing very near, when he would return to England and enter an engineering college. His most intimate friend in Peru was a young fellow, two or three years older than himself, named Felipe Durand, who lived on his father's hacienda, about twelve miles north of the town. Durand had been educated in England, and being a very fair batsman, he sometimes joined Tim in getting up a cricket match between elevens of the Japanese workers.