For an instant he stood in the doorway trying to see, for the sun outside was bright, and inside there was a semi-gloom. Then he made out a rough counter, piles of skins from cattle and sheep, sacks of grain, casks of tallow, bolts of imported goods, and a man who paced back and forth before a rough desk, his hands clasped behind his back, his head bowed on his breast. “Good day, _señor_!” said the caballero. The other stopped and raised his head, looked the caballero straight in the eyes, then, without a word, stepped behind the counter and busied himself arranging some bolts of cloth on a shelf. “I greeted you good day, _señor_!” Still there was no reply, nor did the man behind the counter turn to face the one who spoke. “Is there man, woman or child in the mission who can speak Spanish, native or the sign language?” demanded the caballero now, angrily, stepping up to the counter and placing both his hands upon it. “Is this the hospitality of which San Diego de Alcalá has been so proud? Those persons I met in the plaza refused to answer my polite salutations. And you--I take it you are a sort of manager here, or superintendent, or clerk to the padres, or something of the sort--seem to have no word for me, not even the one common courtesy demands you should use in response to a greeting!” He waited; but an answer did not come. The man behind the counter had finished with the bolts of cloth, and now was taking from the shelf jars of honey and olives and oil, and putting them back exactly as they had been before, showing plainly that he was busying himself merely to avoid making a reply. “Has life in the bright sun dulled your wits?” demanded the caballero, now thoroughly angry. “Have you all taken a vow not to speak until such and such a time? Could I get your kind attention, perhaps, if I made a purchase? One would think an Indian attack had left you all without tongues in your heads!” Still there came no reply from the man behind the counter. The door opened, and a giant of a neophyte entered. He gave the caballero a glance, seemed to throw back his shoulders, and hurried up to the counter. “A quarter of mutton, Señor Lopez,” he said. “The padre said I was to have it until the grain is harvested.” “Certainly, Pedro,” came the reply. Señor Lopez turned and smiled at the man he had called Pedro, and went to the rear of the room, from where he carried the meat. Pedro took the mutton upon his shoulder, and Señor Lopez followed him to the door, opening it and holding it wide so that the other could pass out. For a moment they talked in low tones, then Pedro hurried away, and Lopez closed the door and went back behind the counter. “So you can use your voice when it pleases you to do so, it seems,” said the caballero. “Suppose you use a portion of it now, in answer to some questioning of mine. If it is necessary, I’ll pay for it. Give me this much voice, Señor Lopez!”