“I hope he’ll survive it,” retaliated Eleanor.
“You should worry. Adios.”
Mabel waved a derisive farewell to her sister as she turned to follow Patsy and Bee, who had already started for the main exit to the patio, which opened onto the driveway.
Arm in arm, the trio followed the drive, coming at last to the stable, a rambling stone structure situated at some distance below the house.
“There’s Carlos now! He looks like a cowboy, doesn’t he?”
Patsy had spied her father’s new man standing in front of the stable engaged in lighting a cigarette. Attired in an open-necked flannel shirt, brown corduroy trousers and a weather-stained sombrero, the Mexican presented a rather picturesque appearance, or so the Wayfarers thought.
Immediately he caught sight of the three girls, the man’s dark features grew lowering. He made a move as though to enter the stable door, then stood still, regarding his advancing visitors with sullen indifference.
“You speak to him, Mab,” urged Patsy in an undertone. “Say something to him in Spanish.”
“Oh, I can’t,” demurred Mabel. “What shall I say?”
“Say ‘good-day’ in Spanish,” prompted Patsy. “Go ahead.”