. . and serious.
But this singing Pedigreed Fellow, with all his airs! . . . He was a man
that he had gotten from . . . well, he didn't wish to say just where!
And the Frenchman, though knowing perfectly well what his introduction
to Karl had been, pretended not to understand him.
As the German had, by this time, made good his escape, the ranchman
consented to being pushed toward his house, talking all the time about
giving a beating to the Romantica and another to the China for not
having informed him of the courtship. He had surprised his daughter
and the Gringo holding hands and exchanging kisses in a grove near the
house.
"He's after my dollars," howled the irate father. "He wants America to
enrich him quickly at the expense of the old Spaniard, and that is
the reason for so much truckling, so much psalm-singing and so much
nobility! Imposter! . . . Musician!"
And he repeated the word "musician" with contempt, as though it were the
sum and substance of everything vile.
Very firmly and with few words, Desnoyers brought the wrangling to an
end. While her brother-in-law protected her retreat, the Romantica,
clinging to her mother, had taken refuge in the top of the house,
sobbing and moaning, "Oh, the poor little fellow! Everybody against
him!" Her sister meanwhile was exerting all the powers of a discreet
daughter with the rampageous old man in the office, and Desnoyers had
gone in search of Karl.
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