"I voted in haste for English rule," said Luis Castro. "My preference is for your country, Señor Commodore."
"And I! And I!" from a dozen others.
Billings shrugged. "Your California Baja is solid for England."
"I have letters here from Señor Carillo, the Picos, and others prominent there, stating that these men will accept what is wisest for the province," replied Mendoza.
"Well said! Well said!" broke in the heavy voice of O'Donnell.
Billings looked around the room from one face to another. Finally, his eyes rested on Mendoza. "But there is a possibility if I take your capital that I may be asked to give it over to the English admiral. Is that not true? Your people, after all, may vote to become a British dependency," giving the table beside him a resounding blow with his clenched hand.
"A bare possibility—nothing more," said Mendoza, quietly.
"In which case I should have my trouble for my pains," asserted the American.
"You would, then, have aided a sovereign people to exercise their right of franchise. Surely, your government would uphold you in that. Besides, the chance is ten to one—yes, a hundred to one—that your flag will continue flying over the province," argued the Administrator.
Billings's heavy mustachios raised along his face in a peculiar smile. His bushy eyebrows were elevated. In a moment his features fell into their usual mold.