“I have his good will; so you and I are quits, and there is nothing to prevent our fighting when we have the chance.”
“Good,” growled Diego.
Juan hesitated. If Diego would only be friends with him, it seemed to him that he would have nothing more to ask for.
“Won’t you shake hands and be friends until we can fight?” he asked, wistfully.
“Then how could we fight?” demanded Diego. “No, I won’t be friends till we have fought.”
So Juan turned away and passed on to where Miguel was jealously waiting for him. It seemed to Juan a very difficult matter to adjust his friendships to suit himself. There was Diego, whose friendship he wished and who would not be his friend; and here was Miguel, whose friendship was so undesirable and who was bent upon being his friend.
“Martin Alonzo found your conversation very funny,” said Miguel, in an injured tone.
“Well,” said Juan, testily, “is there any harm in that?” and he moved over to an old sailor, Rodrigo de Triana, and asked questions about the weather.