“Juan, you’re a lazy, no-good!” the man shouted. “Three times today I’ve told you not to bruise the fruit in stripping it! But do you pay attention? Not the slightest. Either you’ll take orders, or quit the orchard. Savey?”
“Si, Senor,” came the muttered reply.
“Now get back to your picking,” the man snapped.
Veve and Connie had rounded a bend in the road and now were able to see the two speakers. The man, who wore a rough checkered shirt and large straw hat, was short and fat. His sunburned face twisted into hard lines as he talked.
The one he addressed appeared to be a Mexican lad, no older than 10 or 12 years of age. Juan was dressed in ragged grayish-white trousers and shirt. He too wore a straw hat to protect himself from the sun, but was barefoot.
The boy scooted off with his empty cherry pail as the girls approached. Rather nervously, Connie and Veve spoke to the man, who eyed them in a most unfriendly way.
“We’re looking for Mr. Wingate,” said Connie politely.
“Well?” the man demanded.
“Can you tell us where to find him?”
“I am Wingate. What d’you want? Be brief, because I’ve got work to do.”