“‘So long,’ says I, ’as it ain’t Gabriel, why talk as if you had heard a trump blow?’

“‘It’s the Senorita Anabela Zamora,’ says Fergus.  ‘She’s—­she’s—­she’s as lovely as—­as hell!’

“‘Bravo!’ says I, laughing heartily.  ’You have a true lover’s eloquence to paint the beauties of your inamorata.  You remind me,’ says I, ’of Faust’s wooing of Marguerite—­that is, if he wooed her after he went down the trap-door of the stage.’

“‘Judson,’ says Fergus, ’you know you are as beautiless as a rhinoceros.  You can’t have any interest in women.  I’m awfully gone in Miss Anabela.  And that’s why I’m telling you.’

“‘Oh, seguramente,’ says I.  ’I know I have a front elevation like an Aztec god that guards a buried treasure that never did exist in Jefferson County, Yucatan.  But there are compensations.  For instance, I am It in this country as far as the eye can reach, and then a few perches and poles.  And again,’ says I, ’when I engage people in a set-to of oral, vocal, and laryngeal utterances, I do not usually confine my side of the argument to what may be likened to a cheap phonographic reproduction of the ravings of a jellyfish.’

“‘Oh, I know,’ says Fergus, amiable, ’that I’m not handy at small talk.  Or large, either.  That’s why I’m telling you.  I want you to help me.’

“‘How can I do it?’ I asked.

“‘I have subsidized,’ says Fergus, ’the services of Senorita Anabela’s duenna, whose name is Francesca.  You have a reputation in this country, Judson,’ says Fergus, ’of being a great man and a hero.’

“‘I have,’ says I.  ‘And I deserve it.’

“‘And I,’ says Fergus, ’am the best-looking man between the arctic circle and antarctic ice pack.’

“‘With limitations,’ says I, ’as to physiognomy and geography, I freely concede you to be.’

“‘Between the two of us,’ says Fergus, ’we ought to land the Senorita Anabela Zamora.  The lady, as you know, is of an old Spanish family, and further than looking at her driving in the family carruaje of afternoons around the plaza, or catching a glimpse of her through a barred window of evenings, she is as unapproachable as a star.’

“‘Land her for which one of us?’ says I.

“‘For me, of course,’ says Fergus.  ’You’ve never seen her.  Now, I’ve had Francesca point me out to her as being you on several occasions.  When she sees me on the plaza, she thinks she’s looking at Don Judson Tate, the greatest hero, statesman, and romantic figure in the country.  With your reputation and my looks combined in one man, how can she resist him?  She’s heard all about your thrilling history, of course.  And she’s seen me.  Can any woman want more?’ asks Fergus McMahan.

“‘Can she do with less?’ I ask.  ’How can we separate our mutual attractions, and how shall we apportion the proceeds?’

“Then Fergus tells me his scheme.