ing over her, his eyes for her alone as he
turned up his mustaches more fiercely yet and his eyes grew the more
tender. "I speak roughly and not guarding my tongue which should
suffer and not taste wine for a week, senorita. I am ashamed."

Ernestine blushed; again several men had laughed. He had said "hell"
and had apologised to her . . .

"We'll let it go this time," she laughed a trifle awkwardly. "And as
for not drinking anything. . . . Look out or you'll spill what Papa
Marquette is bringing you now."

"We are all frien's, m'sieu," said Papa Marquette courteously, offering
a brimming glass. "You, too. And it is wrong that one should thirst
to-night."

The other took the glass with another of his graceful bows.

"May you have other fifty years of happiness with your senora," he said
warmly. "Your health and her health, senor." The glass, at his lips,
halted and came away for a moment while he thought to introduce
himself. "I am Ramon Garcia."

He said it as one might have said, "I am the King of Spain." Simply
enough but with a proud simplicity. Then he put back his head and
drank.

After that Ramon Garcia needed no coaxing to remain. He fitted into
the throng as he seemed to do all things, gracefully. Since he could
not spend his money to-night for wine and since spend it he must he
ventured it pleasantly at the table where the dice rolled. Between
throws he made many slender cigarettes of fine tobacco and thin white
papers; winning, he forgot to note how much in turning his eyes with
tender admiration upon Ernestine Dumont, whose glance more than once
met his; losing, he hummed languid snatches of Mexican love songs in a
remarkably pure tenor voice.

Before he had been with them an hour it was evident to many, not last
of all to big Kootanie George, that the "Mex" was flirting openly with
the yellow haired Ernestine. It was equally evident that his notice
did not embarrass her as his apology had done. She curved her red lips
at him when George was not looking, she glanced down as demure as a
bashful school girl when her big lover was watching her. George began
to lose at his cards and when he swore at his luck did not apologise.

At last Ramon Garcia wearied of the dice. He pocketed his winnings and
pushed back his chair. A guitar in its case in a corner of the room
had caught his roving eye. Standing with his back to the wall, leaning
indolently, he sent his white fingers wandering