“Ah!” said Martin Alonzo, a twinkle lighting up his stern eye.
Diego, who was quickness itself, caught the twinkle and went on, before Fray Bartolomeo could continue his catalogue of misdeeds.
“And then I begged him to enlighten me further, since I was not certain that I had construed him correctly.”
“Thou didst flout him,” said the friar, indignantly.
“What didst thou?” demanded Martin Alonzo.
“I did but lift my foot thus,” said Diego, demurely suiting the action to the word, “and count, so: ‘I think once, I think twice, and down she goes. I think once, I think twice, I think once, I think twice,’ and so on.”
It was so comically done, Diego being a capital mimic and actor, that Martin Alonzo and the women of the household laughed uproariously in spite of their seriousness. Even Fray Bartolomeo was fain to turn his head. Diego retained his innocent countenance; but down in his heart was the feeling that once more his artfulness had saved him.
“‘Tis thus he ever saves himself the punishment he deserves, and then laughs in his sleeve at his own cajolery,” said the friar, resuming his grave face.
“He is a very cunning knave, then, is he?” said Martin Alonzo, thoughtfully.
“If thou knowest him not, he will cajole thy anger into love and so escape his just dues.”