They were both San Juan
citizens, but obviously not to his liking. Jim Galloway was a big man,
yes; but of _la gente_, never! The senorita should look the other way
when he passed. He owned the Casa Blanca; that was enough to ticket
him, and Ignacio passed quickly to _el senor doctor_. Oh, he was
smart and did much good to the sick; but the poor Mexican who called
him for a bedridden wife must first sell something and show the money.
Beyond these it appeared that the enviable class of San Juan consisted
of the padre Jose, who was at present and much of the time away
visiting the poor and sick throughout the countryside; Julius Struve,
who owned and operated the local hotel, one of the lesser luminaries,
though a portly gentleman with an amiable wife; the Porters, who had a
farm off to the northwest and whose connection to San Juan lay in the
fact that an old maid daughter taught the school here; various other
individuals and family groups to be disposed of with a word and a
careless wave of a cigarette. Already for the fair stranger Ignacio
had skimmed the cream of the cream.
The girl sighed, as though her question had been no idle one and his
reply had disappointed her. For a moment her brows gathered slightly
into a frown that was like a faint shadow; then she smiled again
brightly, a quick smile which seemed more at home in her eyes than the
frown had been.
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