“Oh, if Señor Morning die, I shall die too.”
“Oh, no! if some fairy should wave its wand, or some Fortunatus should drop uncounted gold at your feet, what would you do first?”
The soft eyes of Señorita Gonzales flamed as never eyes of Saxon maiden burned, and she quickly replied, rising and drawing nearer:—
“I would have a casa grande.”
“And where would you have a grand casa, here?”
“No, no!” giving her hand a truly Delsarte sweep of motion. “Long time ago my mother take a me to Yuma, and there I hear much talk about Castle Dome; it is twenty, thirty miles up the great river Colorado. One time we sail up there in steam a boat, and such a rancheria—beautiful! Great trees, and rocks, and the Indians have been show how by the padres long time ago, and they have beautiful trees of figs, and oranges, and lemon, and great vines. And I have tink about it always. When I am rich a I shall drive the Indians away, and give money for make a them not hungry, and make a casa all like a same in picture.”
“We all have our castles in Spain. Why not you, Murella?” and he drew forth a pencil, and, spreading paper upon the table, asked her to sit down.
“Now,” said he, “we will build this fine house upon paper. What shall we do first?”
“We shall have a dance-house.”
Morning smiled grimly; the mining camps enjoy a monopoly of literary phrasing, and the compound word was familiar, so he only said, “All right, a salon for dancing.”