"Sure!" says I. "This way, Seenor."
"Perdone," says he. "Say-nohr."
"Got you," says I, "only I may not follow you very far. About all the Spanish I had I used up this noon orderin' an omelet, but maybe we can get somewhere if we're both patient. Here we are, in my nice cozy corner with all the rest of the day before us. Have a chair, Say-nohr."
He's a perky, high-colored old boy, and to judge by the restless black eyes, a real live wire. He looks me over sort of doubtful, stroking the zippy little chin tuft as he does it, but he ends by shruggin' his shoulders resigned.
"I come," says he, "in quest of Señor Captain Yohness."
"Yohness?" says I, tryin' to look thoughtful. "No such party around here that I know of."
"It must be," says he. "That I have ascertained."
"Oh, well!" says I. "Suppose we admit that much as a starter. What about him? What's he done?"
"Ah!" says the Señor Don Pedro, spreadin' out his hands eloquent. "But that is a long tale."
It was, too. I expect that was what had got him in wrong with Old Hickory. However, he tackles it once more, using the full-arm movement and sprinklin' in Spanish liberal whenever he got stuck. Course, this fallin' back on his native tongue must have been a relief to him, but it didn't help me out much. Some I could guess at, and when I couldn't I'd get him to repeat it until I worked up a hunch. Then we'd take a fresh start. It's surprisin', too, how well we got along after we had the system doped out.