The torero grinned laxly.
"You were my comarado coming here from Caracas, señor. You remember, we rode all the way together."
"Sure! Get to your point."
Lubito straightened.
"Well, would you see your comarado wronged? Are you going to see him turned into a laughing-stock?"
"You've turned yourself into a laughing-stock; you're drunk."
"Caramba! Whose fault is it?"
"Why, yours, of course!"
The bull-fighter spread the fingers of both hands on his chest.
"I! It is no fault of mine. The President did this!"