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He used immensely long sentences, of which I only understood one-half. "What, then, is the difference between me, Manuel-del-Popolo Isturiz, and this Tomas Castro? The Señor Caballero can tell at once. Look at me. I am the finer man. I would have you ask the ladies of Rio Medio, and leave the verdict to them. This Castro is an Andalou a foreigner.
"This wretched creature," said the Gypsy, "is a better horse than your Andalou!" "Perhaps you would not exchange," said I, smiling. "Senor, what I say is, that he shall run with your Andalou, and beat him!" "He looks feeble," said I; "his work is well nigh done." "Feeble as he is, Senor, you could not manage him; no, nor any Englishman in Spain."
What the Señor Juez O'Brien asks me to do, I do. I would put a knife into any one who inconvenienced the Señor Juez O'Brien, who is a good Catholic; we would all do that, as is right and fitting. But this Castro this Andalou, who is nearly as bad as a heretic!
I should not have thought that there was e'er a Busno would know us in these parts, where Gitanos are never seen. Your worship is right, the sight of that horse made us believe we were at home again in the mercado of Granada; he is a countryman of ours, a real Andalou. Por dios, your worship, sell us that horse; we are poor Calore, but we can buy him."
"How is this?" said I. "You this moment told me he was a fine horse an Andalusian, and a countryman of yours." "No, Senor! we did not say that he was an Andalou. We said he was an Estremou, and the worst of his kind. He is eighteen years old, your worship, short-winded and galled." "I do not wish to sell my horse," said I; "quite the contrary; I had rather buy than sell."
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