d to a man doomed from
birth to view cows from the hurricane-deck of a horse."

"But you have such a funny little clipped accent."

He opened his great black eyes in feigned astonishment.

"Oh, didn't you know?" he whispered.

"Know what?"

"Unfortunate young woman!" he murmured to his water-glass. "No wonder
she sits in public with that pudgy son of a chrysanthemum, when she
isn't even able to recognize a greaser at a glance. Oh, Lord!"

"You're not a greaser," she challenged.

"No?" he bantered. "You ought to see me squatting under an avocado
tree, singing the 'Spanish Cavalier' to a guitar accompaniment.
Listen: I'll prove it without the accompaniment." And he hummed
softly:

"The Spanish cavalier,
Went out to rope a steer,
Along with his paper cigar-o,
'_Car-ramba_!' says he.
'_Manana_ you will be
_Mucho bueno carne par mio_!'"

Her brown eyes danced.

"That doesn't prove anything except that you're an incorrigible Celt.
When you stooped down to kiss the stone at Blarney Castle, you lost
your balance and fell in the well. And you've dripped blarney ever
since."

"Oh, not that bad, really! I'm a very serious person ordinarily. That
little forget-me-not of language is a heritage of my childhood. Mother
taught me to pray in Spanish, and I learned that language first.
Later, my grandfather taught me to swear in English with an Irish
accent, and I've been fearfully balled up ever since. It's very
inconvenient."

"Be serious, soldier, or I shall not cut your meat for you at dinner."

"Excuse me. I forgot I was addressing a hot-cake queen. But please do
not threaten me, because I'm out of the army just twenty-four hours,
and I'm independent and I may resent it. I can order spoon-victuals,
you know."

"You aren't really Spanish?"

"Not really. Mostly. I'd fight a wild bull this minute for a single
red-chilli pepper. I eat them raw."

"And you're going home to your ranch now?"

"_Si_. And I'll not take advantage of any stop-over privileges on the
way, either. Remember the fellow in the song who kept on proclaiming
that he had to go back--that he must go back--that he would go back--to
that dear old Chicago town? Well, that poor exile had only just
commenced to think that he ought to begin feeling the urge to go home.
And when you consider that the unfortunate man hailed from Chicago,
while I--" He blew a kiss out the window and hummed:

"I love you, California.