“I could have sworn to it. Well, well?”
“Then I told him something that I knew would hurt him worse than a beating, and let him up. After that he would not fight any more.”
“By my faith!” said Martin Alonzo, in a tone of extreme exasperation, “and what was this wonderful thing that you told him? You must indeed have the gift of language if you can cool the hot blood of a lad like Diego by words. What did you tell him? I may need to know the words some day. What were they?”
Juan hesitated and then tossed his head with a sort of pride and defiance.
“I showed him how he had done me an injustice,” he said.
“In what way? Go on with your story.”
“Well,” said Juan, “I will tell you, since you urge me. It was I cut the rudder gearing.”
“Ah!” said Martin Alonzo, knitting his eyebrows.
“Diego knew it was I; but would not tell you because—because—well, he was too generous.”