"'Once? It is sufficient,' assured Juan. 'Fully sufficient. To meet Luis once is to meet him forever. He is always the same. But some others--not so. You have been shipwrecked, yes? You lost everything? Ah-h, that is most hard luck, but do not despair. I, too, was a sailor--one time. One time only, gracias a Dios! My ancestors, I think, were of the land entirely. The sea-sickness--pir-r-h--no, no, not for me. But do not mind. But pardon, señor'--he turned to Ferrero--'attend to me, Ferrero. I am grieved to-day. It is the señora again. What matters it whether a man is a muletero, gaucho, toreador, or what? Torellas, now, has been all--so have I, her brother-in-law--or a seller of hats or a member of the cabinet? What, I ask you'--he turned to Cogan--'are we señor? We are men or we are not? So? Very well, let us say no more, but find a café and have our coffee. It has been very dusty to-day--very.' "Two cups of coffee, and Juan was talking to Cogan like a brother. And he could talk like a highspeed dynamo. 'A man--can he be no greater than a man, I ask you, sir? Luis, he will be glad to see you, if you came in rags--no matter--he is always the same, always. But the señora--pir-r-h. That is it--you have it--Proud! A good woman, mind'--Juan leaned over and tapped Cogan's arm to let him know there must be no mistake on that point--'the best of women, but'--he sighed--'Luis, he is from home six months in the year, and she it is who has the training of Valera. And once she was as like her father as--oh, and such a heart! But she will become--I fear it now--like her mother. And her mother does not want Torellas. "'And Torellas! A torero, yes. But whether a man is muletero, vaquero, or torero, what matters it? Torellas has been all three, and I, too--I, her brother-in-law, but what matters it? Luis, my brother, was, oh, so poor when they married, but, my friend, I who say it--I, his brother--a scamp possibly, yes, but we had family. A handsome boy was Luis, and she--I admit it--very beautiful and good. But Luis--Luis becomes wealthy. At once the señora must have a grand son-in-law. Torellas is a toreador,--yes,--but also Torellas is something more than that. The strong arm, the quick eye, the'--Juan slapped himself on the left breast--'the brave heart, yes. But more than that. I know, señor, I who have been'--he touched them off on succeeding finger-tips--'gaucho in Argentina, cowboy in your country, a soldier in the Chilean war, horse-breaker--but I have not fingers sufficient--I who have roamed far, I know men. And Torellas--but you have seen him, señor? Ah-h--then you, too, know. Is he not a man? Ah-h--and surely a man can be but a man. And Torellas,'--Juan pounded the table,--'he is a man--Pir-r'--Juan whirled in his chair--'_Pedro, café_--_al instante. Tres, si, si_--_tres_.' "'But, Juan,' asks Ferrero when the coffee came, 'a few months ago we thought--'