“Why, what’s the matter?” Veve asked anxiously.
Juan glanced up and grinned, his lips parting to show a double row of even, white teeth.
“Nothing, Senorita,” he replied. His tone was most polite.
Veve felt quite grownup to be called a senorita, which she knew was a Mexican word for “Miss.” It worried her, though, to see that Juan’s hand had been deeply scratched and bruised.
“How did you hurt your hand?” she asked.
“Wingate.” Juan answered briefly.
Veve was horrified. “You mean he cut you?” she gasped.
“No, Senorita. He shoved me and I stumbled into the wire fence.”
“Oh, Juan! How could he be so mean?”