“Don Mike, he’s like gallina con arroz espagnol,” he explained.  “What you, call chick-een with rice Spanish,” he interpreted.  “Eet mus’ not be that Don Mike come home and Carolina have not cook for heem the grub he like. Carramba!”

“But he cannot possibly eat a chicken before—­I mean, it’s too soon.  Don Mike will not eat that chicken before the animal-heat is out of it.”

“You don’ know Don Mike, mees.  Wen dat boy he’s hongry, he don’ speak so many questions.”

“But I’ve told our cook to save dinner for him."’

“Your cook! Senorita, I don’ like make fun for you, but I guess you don’ know my wife Carolina, she have been cook for Don Miguel and Don Mike since long time before he’s beeg like little kitten.  Don Mike, he don’ understand those gringo grub.”

“Listen, Pablo:  There is no time to cook Don Mike a Spanish dinner.  He must eat gringo grub to-night.  Tell me, Pablo:  Which room did Don Mike sleep in when he was home?”

“The room in front the house—­the beeg room with the beeg black bed.  Carolina!” He threw the half-plucked chicken at the old cook, wiped his hands on his overalls, and started for the hacienda.  “I go for make the bed for Don Mike,” he explained, and started running.

Kay followed breathlessly, but he reached the patio before her, scuttled along the porch with surprising speed, and darted into the room.  Immediately the girl heard his voice raised angrily.

“Hullo!  What you been do in my boss’s room? Madre de Dios!  You theenk I let one Chinaman—­no, one Jap—­sleep in the bed of Don Victoriano Noriaga.  No! Vamos!”

There was a slight scuffle, and the potato baron came hurtling through the door, propelled on the boot of the aged but exceedingly vigorous Pablo.  Evidently the Jap had been taken by surprise.  He rolled off the porch into a flower-bed, recovered himself, and flew at Pablo with the ferocity of a bulldog.  To the credit of his race, be it said that it does not subscribe to the philosophy of turning the other cheek.

But Pablo was a peon.  From somewhere on his person, he produced a dirk and slashed vigorously.  Okada evaded the blow, and gave ground.

“Quidado!” Pablo roared, and charged; whereupon the potato baron, evidently impressed with the wisdom of the ancient adage that discretion is the better part of valor, fled before him.  Pablo followed, opened the patio gate, and, with his long dirk, motioned the Jap to disappear through it.  “The hired man, he don’ sleep in the bed of the gente,” he declared.  “The barn is too good for one Jap. Santa Maria!  For why I don’ keel you, I don’ know.”

“Pablo!”

The majordomo turned.

“Yes, mees lady.”

“Mr. Okada is our guest.  I command you to leave him alone.  Mr. Okada, I apologize to you for Pablo’s impetuosity.  He is not a servant of ours, but a retainer of the former owner.  Pablo, will you please attend to your own business?” Kay was angry now, and Pablo realized it.