"Me llamo Jack Pursley (My name is Jack Pursley), señor."
"Si, si! Bien! Muy bien! (Yes, yes! Good! Very good!)" exclaimed the lieutenant. "Ven conmigo, pues (Come with me, then)."
On he went, at such a pace that Stub, wondering, had hard work keeping up with him. They made a number of twists and turns through the crooked, darkened streets, and the lieutenant stopped before a door set in the mud wall of a house flush with the street itself. He opened, and entered—Stub on his heels. They passed down a narrow verandah, in a court, entered another door
The room was lighted with two candles. It had no seats except a couple of blanket-covered couches against its wall; a colored picture or two of the saints hung on the bare walls. A man had sprung up. He was a tall, full-bearded man—an American even though his clothes were Spanish.
He gazed upon Stub; Stub gaped at him.
"It is the boy," panted Lieutenant Bartholomew. "Bien?"
"Jack!" shouted the man.
"My dad!" Stub blurted.
They charged each other, and hugged.
"Good! Good!" exclaimed the lieutenant, danc-
