If he had a failing it was this: nothing on earth would induce him to talk his own language to his master. He was unmoved by encouragement, unconvinced by the fluency of Manvers' Castilian periods; he would have risked his place upon this one point of honour.
"Espanish no good, sir, for you an' me," he said once with an irresistible smile. "Too damsilly for you. Capitan Rodney, 'e teach, me Englisha speech. Now I know it too much. No, sir. You know what they say—them filosofistas?" he asked him on another encounter. "They say, God Almighty 'e maka this world in Latin—ver' fine for thata big job. Whata come next? Adamo 'e love his lady in Espanish—esplendid for maka women love. That old Snaka 'e speak to 'er in French—that persuade 'er too much. Then Eva she esplain in Italian—ver' soft espeech. Adamo 'e say, That all righta. Then God Almighty ver' savage. 'E turn roun' on them two. 'E say, That be blowed, 'e say in English. They understan' 'im too much. Believe me—is the best for you an' me, sir. All people understan' that espeech."
Taken as a guide, he installed himself as body servant, silently, tactfully, but infallibly. Manvers caught him one morning putting boots by his door. "Hulloa, Gil Perez," he called out, "what are you doing with my boots?"
Gil's confidential manner was a thing to drink. "That mozo, master—'e fool. 'E no maka shine. I show him how Capitan Rodney lika 'is boots. See 'is a face in 'em." He smirked at his own as he spoke, and was so pleased that Manvers said no more.
The same night he stood behind his master's chair. Manvers contented himself by staring at him. Gil Perez smiled with his bright eyes and became exceedingly busy. Manvers continued to stare, and presently Gil Perez was observed to be sweating. The poor fellow was self-conscious for once in his life. Obliged to justify himself, he leaned to his master's ear.
"That mozo, sir, too much of a dam fool. Imposs' you estand 'im. I tell 'im, This gentleman no like garlic down his neck. I say, You breathe too 'ard, my fellow—too much garlic. This gentleman say, Crikey, what a stink! That no good."
There was no comparison between the new service and the old; and so it was throughout. Gil Perez drove out the chambermaid and made Manvers' bed; he brushed his clothes as well as his boots, changed his linen for him, saw to the wash—in fine, he made himself indispensable. But when Manvers announced his coming departure, there was a short tussle, preceded by a pause for breath.
Gil Perez inquired of the sky, searched up the street, searched down. A group of brown urchins hovered, as always, about the stranger, ready to risk any deadly sin for the chance of a maravedi or the stump of a cigar.
Gil snatched at one by the bare shoulder and spoke him burning words. "Canalla," he cried him, "horrible flea! Thou makest the air to reek—impossible to breathe. Fly, thou gnat of the midden, or I crack thee on my thumb."
The boys retired swearing, and Gil, with desperate calling-up of reserves, faced his ordeal. "Ver' good, master, we go when you like. We see Escorial—fine place—see La Granja, come by Madrid thata way. I get 'orses 'ow you please." Then he had an inspiration, and beamed all over his face. "Or mules! We 'ave mules. Mules cheap, 'orses dear too much in Segovia."