Martin Alonzo knew that it was because Juan had interfered to save Diego’s life, and it pleased him to have Juan refrain from telling that.
“Well, go on,” he said.
“When you were going to have him flogged, I had intended to tell you rather than let him be flogged; but he did not know that, and was so angry with me that he said hard things to me. When we were fighting—when I had him down, I bethought me how it would hurt him to tell him that I had intended to save him, and I did it. If I had not been angry I would not have done it, but I did, and that is why he could not fight any more.”
“‘COME, SPEAK OUT, BOY!’”
Martin Alonzo looked into his flushed face for a minute, and then put his hand on his shoulder and said:
“You two boys ought to be friends, and will, eh? after this?”
Juan was pleased with the friendly words and manner, as, of course, he could not help being; for it was much as if a sponge had been passed over some of the degradation of his past. He looked his gratitude, but did not make any answer.
“What!” said Martin Alonzo, “can you not forgive him?”