Hardy saw he was in a bad hole.  “There’s some truth in what you said,” he admitted, trying to crawl out.  “He has fought for America.  And I’m willing to do the right thing by him.”

“You will?” yelled Uncle Henry, wheeling close to him.

“If I get this place, I’m willing to give him a good bonus,” Hardy continued.

Uncle Henry leaned forward, all eagerness.  “How much?” he cried.

“Say, five hundred dollars,” the loan shark generously offered.

“I knew there was a ketch in it!” Uncle Henry said, and rolled back in the shadows of the alcove.

Lopez had been listening intently.  Now he stepped up to Hardy and said:  “Senor Santy Claus, now I understand why it is so ’ard for your country to get ze soldier.  In Mexico, ze soldiers would take all ze money and give ze people a bonus ... per’aps.”  He puffed his cigarette.  “I am done wiz you.”  He turned abruptly to Lucia.  “Now I shall come to you.”

She started.

“You love my frand, Senor Jones?”

Gilbert intervened.  He could not stand this.  “I don’t know what you’re getting at,” he said to Lopez, “nor how you’re going to get it.  But you must see that you can’t discuss a thing like this here.  It’s impossible—­utterly impossible.”  He was suffering vicariously for Lucia.

Pell sneered.  “Your delicacy is somewhat delayed,” he murmured.

“I don’t mind business discussions.  But there’s been too much insinuation to-day.  I won’t have any more of it,” Jones said.

Lopez looked affectionately at the young fellow, “But if I would make you ’appy....” he said.

“I don’t want to be made happy at a cost so great,” Gilbert affirmed.

Lucia’s lovely head drooped, and she moved to the window.

“It shall be but a moment,” the bandit promised.  Gilbert walked to the fireplace so that his face would not be seen.  Lopez went over to Lucia.  “Senora, you do not wish to speak of love.  Why?”

“I am married,” was the answer.

“And because you are marry, you cannot speak of love?...  Eet is strange customs.  Tell me, senora, what does your marriage service say?”

“One promises to love, honor, and obey, in sickness and in health, till death shall part.”

Lopez smiled.  “All zat you promise?”

“Yes,” very low.

“And yet you ’ave divorce!”

“Yes,” lower still.

“So zat, after ’aving promise to love, honor, and hobey,” he tapped off one finger at a time, and looked as if he wanted to get this mysterious matter straight in his mind, “until death, you ’ave ze right to break your word because ze judge say you can?  Is zat it?”

“Y-y-y-yes.  I suppose so.”

Lopez smoked a moment, looked at the ceiling, and then said, “Well, why not break it yourself and save ze trouble!”

“It’s the law,” Lucia told him.

“Humph!  An’ what does ze ‘usband promise?  An’ ’as ’e kept ’is promise?” There was no reply.  “Is plain ’e ’as not.  Zen why should you keep your word to ’im, when ’e ’as broken ’is word to you?  Eh?  Why do you not go before ze judge and ’ave your promise broken?  Why ees it ze custom of your country?  Why?  Why?” He looked bewildered.