Sickening! What do you think a fellow is--a wasp?"
Schomberg disregarded the injured tone.
"And how long did that fit, as you call it, last?" he asked anxiously.
"Weeks, months, years, centuries, it seemed to me," returned Mr. Ricardo
with feeling. "Of an evening the governor would stroll out into the sala
and fritter his life away playing cards with the juez of the place--a
little Dago with a pair of black whiskers--ekarty, you know, a
quick French game, for small change. And the comandante, a one-eyed,
half-Indian, flat-nosed ruffian, and I, we had to stand around and bet
on their hands. It was awful!"
"Awful," echoed Schomberg, in a Teutonic throaty tone of despair. "Look
here, I need your rooms."
"To be sure. I have been thinking that for some time past," said Ricardo
indifferently.
"I was mad when I listened to you. This must end!"
"I think you are mad yet," said Ricardo, not even unfolding his arms or
shifting his attitude an inch. He lowered his voice to add: "And if
I thought you had been to the police, I would tell Pedro to catch
you round the waist and break your fat neck by jerking your head
backward--snap! I saw him do it to a big buck nigger who was flourishing
a razor in front of the governor. It can be done. You hear a low crack,
that's all--and the man drops down like a limp rag."
Not even Ricardo's head, slightly inclined on the left shoulder, had
moved; but when he ceased the greenish irises which had been staring out
of doors glided into the corners of his eyes nearest to Schomberg and
stayed there with a coyly voluptuous expression.
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