l have no more figures. But here is something
that cannot fail to interest you in parts at least."

Shoving aside the ledger, Don Luis drew from a drawer a bulky
document.

"This is the report which Senor Reade prepared for me yesterday,"
Montez explained, looking at the young engineers for an instant.
"The report is written in English, as I desired it written so.
But I will read the most interesting parts in Spanish to you,
_chiquita_. You will observe that this report is a masterpiece
of business composition."

"I am sure that it must be," murmured Francesca, and Tom bowed
his thanks.

"This report, too, is a part of your fortune," continued Don Luis.
"That is, it will help to make your fortune, for it concerns
_El Sombrero_, one of the finest parts of your fortune. We have
been planning, these _caballeros_ and I, that they shall remain
in my employ indefinitely, and they are to be paid better and
better if they serve you through me and serve us well. I shall
reward them as an hidalgo ever rewards."

"I do not need to be told that my father is generous when he is
pleased," murmured Francesca.

"Listen, then, to what Senior Reade has written. It cannot help
but give you much pleasure."

"The shameless rascal!" Tom exclaimed, inwardly, as the trick
became clear to him. "Don Luis is trading upon our sympathies
for the girl in order to induce us to sign his lying report."

Don Luis began to read the report, translating into Spanish as
he went along. When he came to tables of tedious figures Montez
skipped over them hurriedly. He dwelt eagerly, however, on the
paragraphs of the report that asserted such vast wealth to exist
in _El Sombrero_. Francesca listened with rising color. Once
in a while she shot a pretty, sidelong glance at Tom to show her
pleasure over the report, the whole authorship of which she plainly
believed to belong to him.

"Why, it reads like a romance!" the girl cried, clapping her hands
when the reading had finished.

"A romance? Yes!" ground Tom, under his breath. "It is romance--pure
fiction and absurdly false in every line!"

"It must be a wonderful talent to possess, senor," said Francesca,
turning to Tom Reade. "A wonderful talent to be able to describe
a matter of business in such eloquent language."

"It is a rare gift," Tom admitted modestly, though he had a design
in what he was saying. "A rare gift, indeed, and one which I
must not claim. This is your father'