"
"You never saw him."
"Miguel Morin? With a scar on his neck? The bravest boy in all the
Orient? Ask him about Narciso Villar. Come, give me my fish! Or
must I lie down and die before your very eyes to prove my hunger?"
"What a nuisance!" grumbled the marketman. He reached into a
basket and flung a mackerel upon the table. "There! I saved it for
you, and sent the good women of Matanzas away empty-handed. But it
is the very last. Annoy me again and I shall open you with my
knife and put salt on you."
"Ah! You ARE my good captain!" Jacket cried in triumph, possessing
himself of the prize. "Where would I have been but for you?"
Turning to O'Reilly, who had looked on from a distance at this
artificial quarrel, he said, "Captain Morin, this is that brother
Juan of whom I have told you."
Morin smiled at Johnnie and extended his dirty palm. "The little
fellow can speak the truth when he wishes, it seems. I began to
doubt that he had a brother. What a boy, eh?" Leaning closer, he
whispered, hoarsely: "It is cheaper to give him a fish than to
have him steal a whole basketful. But he is a great liar. Even yet
I'm not sure that he knows my Miguelito."
"You have a son with the Insurrectos?"
"Yes." The fisherman cast a furtive glance over his shoulder. "He
is a traitor of the worst sort, and I don't approve of him, but
he's a brave boy and he loves fighting.
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