"I like you very much, my son, but here no one overrules me. . . . Ah,
Frenchy, you are like all the rest of your countrymen! Once you get your
claws on a penny, it goes into your stocking, and nevermore sees
the light of day, even though they crucify you. . . ! Did I say five
dollars? Give him ten. I command it and that is enough."
The Frenchman paid, shrugging his shoulders, whilst his father-in-law,
satisfied with his triumph, fled to Buenos Aires. It was a good thing to
have it well understood that the ranch still belonged to Madariaga, the
Spaniard.
From one of these trips, he returned with a companion, a young German
who, according to him, knew everything and could do everything. His
son-in-law was working too hard. This Karl Hartrott would assist him
in the bookkeeping. Desnoyers accepted the situation, and in a few days
felt increasing esteem for the new incumbent.
Although they belonged to two unfriendly nations, it didn't matter.
There are good people everywhere, and this Karl was a subordinate worth
considering. He kept his distance from his equals, and was hard and
inflexible toward his inferiors. All his faculties seemed concentrated
in service and admiration for those above him. Scarcely would Madariaga
open his lips before the German's head began nodding in agreement,
anticipating his words. If he said anything funny, his clerk's laugh
would break forth in scandalous roars.
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