"I had begun to fear, Senors, that you had become lost again."
"We were, partially, Senor."
"Our simple breakfast is ready now if you are," he said.
"We will have to brush the dirt off before we can go in," protested Jim.
"Antonio bring a brush," called the Senor. In a moment a gray-haired, bent Mexican came with a big kitchen broom. Instantly the Senor flushed with anger.
"Stupid one, my guests are not my horses. Have a care."
A suspicion flashed through Jim's mind that the ancient servitor had brought the broom on purpose. It was clear that the servants did not have a very high opinion of their American visitors. The next time he returned he had gotten the right brush, and made a point of sneezing as the dust flew from their mud-dried clothes. This made Jim laugh in spite of himself.
"More dust than the Sirocco brings," said Jim. The old servitor regarded him with a cunning eye.
"Si, Senor," he said, then he was seized with a perfect convulsion of sneezing. This aroused his master's ire.
"No more of that, Antonio," he commanded, "or it will be the lash." Antonio's cold was cured from that moment. Jim's mouth twitched at the corners with the humor of it but he did not laugh now for that would be discourteous to his host.