"A Spaniard!" we both exclaimed this time.
"Yes," laughing at our astonishment. "A Scotch-Irish-Spaniard—which seems a queer mixture, doesn't it? Though I was born in Spain, my forefathers were Irish, my mother is Scotch, and I have lived for several years first in Edinburgh and then in London; and now my father, who is in the Spanish diplomatic service, is stationed in Washington."
"And what——?" I began, and then stopped, with some embarrassment, as it occurred to me that it was not exactly my business.
"And what am I doing out here? you were going to say. I'll tell you. My father was out in this part of the world a good many years ago, having business in Santa Fé, where he got track of this old copper mine; but his idea of its whereabouts was very vague until, about a year ago, a gentleman whom he had met when he was out here wrote him a letter telling him of the number of copper utensils to be found down there at Hermanos—— What's the matter?"
That he should thus exclaim was not to be wondered at if the look of surprise on my face was anything like the look on Dick's.
"Well, of all the queer things!" exclaimed the latter; and then, advancing a step and addressing our friend, he said, smiling: "I think we can guess your name."
"You do!" cried the young fellow. "That seems hardly likely. What is it?"
"Blake!" replied Dick.