Micky could have told the woman this was the wrong thing to say to a Pilaster.
"On the contrary, I'm glad of the excuse," Seth harrumphed. "I don't see why I should bow the knee to people who have never earned a penny in their lives."
"But the Prince of Wales--such an honor!"
Seth was in no mood to be argued with--indeed he rarely was--and he now said: "Young lady, the name of Pilaster is an accepted guarantee of honest dealing in corners of the globe where they've never heard of the Prince of Wales."
"But Mr. Pilaster, you almost sound as if you disapprove of the royal family!" the woman persisted, with a strained attempt at a playful tone.
Seth had not been playful for seventy years. "I disapprove of idleness," he said. "The Bible says, 'If any would not work, neither should he eat.' Saint Paul wrote that, in Second Thessalonians, chapter three, verse ten, and he conspicuously omitted to say that royalty were an exception to the rule."
The woman retired in confusion. Suppressing a grin, Micky said: "Mr. Pilaster, may I present my father, Senor Carlos Miranda, who is over from Cordova for a visit."
Seth shook Papa's hand. "Cordova, eh? My bank has an office in your capital city, Palma."
"I go to the capital very little," Papa said. "I have a ranch in Santamaria Province."
"So you're in the beef business."
"Yes."
"Look into refrigeration."
Papa was baffled. Micky explained: "Someone has invented a machine for keeping meat cold. If they can find a way to install it in ships, we will be able to send fresh meat all over the world without salting it."
Papa frowned. "This could be bad for us. I have a big salting plant."
"Knock it down," said Seth. "Go in for refrigeration."
Papa did not like people telling him what to do, and Micky felt a little anxious. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted Edward. "Papa, I want to introduce you to my best friend," he said. He managed to ease his father away from Seth. "Allow me to present Edward Pilaster."
Papa examined Edward with a cold, clear-eyed gaze. Edward was not good-looking--he took after his father, not his mother--but he looked like a healthy farm boy, muscular and fair-skinned. Late nights and quantities of wine had not taken their toll--not yet, anyway. Papa shook his hand and said: "You two have been friends for many years."
"Soul mates," Edward said.
Papa frowned, not understanding.
Micky said: "May we talk business for a moment?"
