Page:Fombombo.pdf/43



“That 's not Lubito, señor!” he declared. “That's not Lubito. ”When a man attaches himself to me in friendly confidence, I ' m not the man to break with him the moment he has served my purpose. No, I will see you through!“

“But—damnation, man!—I don't want you to see me through!”

“Cá! You don't! You go back on your trade!”

The American snapped his fingers and motioned toward the door of the garage.

“Beat it!”

The man with the hair flared up suddenly and began talking the most furious Spanish:

“''Diantre! Bien, bien, bien!'' I'll establish my trade! I'll call the police and establish my trade! Ray of God, but I'm an honest man!” and he started for the door, beginning to peer around for a policeman before he was nearly out. “Yes, we'll have a police investigation!” He disappeared.

Strawbridge looked at Gumersindo, and then by a common impulse the black editor and the white drummer started for the door, after the man with the hair. The editor hailed him as he was walking rapidly down the calle:

“Hold on, my friend; come back!”

Lubito whirled and started back as rapidly as he had departed. His movements were extraordinarily supple and graceful even for Latin America, where grace and suppleness are common.

“We have decided that we may be able to carry you along after all, Señor Lubito. We may even be of some mutual service. What is your profession?”

“I am, señor, a bull-fighter.” He tipped up his handsome head and struck a bull-ring attitude, perhaps unconsciously. The negro editor stared at him, glanced at Strawbridge, and shrugged faintly but hopelessly.

“Very good,” he said in a dry tone. “We want you. No