."

"Well, Pablo thinks it is true, Mr. Okada." Don Miguel's voice was
unruffled, his manner almost benignant. "The old man is outside, and
absolutely broken-hearted. His honor appears to be quite gone. I
imagine," Don Mike continued, with a fleeting and whimsical glance at
the potato baron, "that he has evolved some primitive plan for making
his honor whole again. Direct methods always did appeal to Pablo."

"Mr. Farrel," John Parker began, "I regret this incident more than I
can say. I give you my word of honor I had nothing to do with it
directly or indirectly--"

"John, for goodness' sake, old dear, give Mr. Farrel credit for some
common sense. He knows very well you wouldn't break bread with him and
then betray him. Don't you, Mr. Farrel?" Mrs. Parker pleaded.

"Of course, Mr. Parker's assurance is wholly unnecessary, Mrs. Parker."

"Mr. Okada is leaving this afternoon," Parker hastened to assure him.

"Mr. Okada shows commendable prudence." Don Mike's tones were
exceedingly dry.

Okada rose and bowed his squinch-owl bow.

"I very sorry," he sputtered. "I zink that man Pablo one big liar.
'Scuse, please; I go."

"If he hadn't called Pablo a liar," Don Mike murmured plaintively, "I
should have permitted him to march out with the honors of war. As the
matter stands now, however, I invite all of you to listen attentively.
In a few minutes you're going to hear something that will remind you of
the distant whine of a sawmill. After all, Pablo is a poor old fellow
who lives a singularly humdrum existence."

"Ah, yes; let the poor fellow have his simple little pleasures," Mrs.
Parker pleaded. "'All work and no play'--you know, Don Miguel."

"My dear," Parker answered testily, "there are occasions when your
sense of humor is positively oppressive."

"Very well, John; I'll be serious." His wife turned to Farrel. "Mr.
Farrel," she continued, "while you were away, I had a very bright idea.
You are much too few in the family for such a large house, and it
occurred to me that you might care to lease the Palomar hacienda to us
for a year. I'm so weary of hotels and equally weary of a town house,
with its social obligations and the insolence of servants--particularly
cooks. John needs a year here, and we would so like to remain if it
could be arranged. Your cook, Carolina, is not the sort that leaves
one's employ in the middle of a dinner-party."

"Would five hundred dollars a month for the house