"And I too," affirmed Genday. "If it is necessary to call witnesses to prove it, they are there. I know it from my own brother, who heard it from Mendez de las Vides; you can judge whether I have the news on good authority or not. Do you want further proof? Well, two armchairs, a handsome gilt bedstead, a great deal of china and a piano have been ordered from Orense for Las Vides. Are you convinced?"
"In any case they will not come as soon as you say," objected Tropiezo.
"They will come at the time I have said. Don Victoriano wants to spend the holidays and the vintage season here; they say he longs to see his native place again, and that he has spoken of nothing all the winter but the journey."
"He is coming to die here," said Tropiezo; "I heard that he was in a very bad state of health. You are going to be left without a leader."
"Go to——What a devil of a man, what an owl, always predicting misfortunes! Either hold your tongue, or talk sense. Attend to the game, as you ought to."
Segundo was gazing abstractedly at the glass globes of the shop, his attention seemingly occupied with the blue, green, and red points of light that sparkled in their center. He understood now the subject of their conversation—the expected arrival of Don Victoriano Andres de la Comba, the minister, the great political leader of the country, the radical representative of the district. What mattered to Segundo the arrival of this pretentious coxcomb! And giving himself up to the enjoyment of his cigar, he allowed the noisy dispute to go on unheeded. Afterward he became absorbed in the reading of an article in El Imparcial, in which a new poet was warmly eulogized.
Meanwhile at the tresillo table matters were becoming complicated. The apothecary, who sat behind the Alcalde, was giving him advice—a delicate and difficult task.
The tobacconist and Don Fermin held all the good cards; they had the man between them—a ticklish position. The Alcalde was a thin shriveled-up old man, of a very timid disposition, who, before he ventured to play a card, would think a hundred years about it, calculating all the contingencies and all the possible combinations of which cards are capable. He did not want now to play that solo. It would be a great mistake! But the impetuous Agonde encouraged him, saying: "Come! I buy it." Thus urged, the Alcalde came to a decision, but not without having first entered a protest:
"Very well, I'll play it, but it is a piece of folly, gentlemen—so that you may not say I am afraid."
And all that he had foreseen happened; he found himself between two fires: on the one side his king of hearts is trumped, on the other his opponent takes his knave of trumps with his queen. Don Fermin wins the trick without knowing how, while the tobacconist, who is smiling maliciously, keeps all his good cards. The Alcalde lifts his eyes appealingly to Agonde.
"Didn't I tell you so? A nice fix we have got ourselves into! We shall lose the hand; it is lost already."
"No, man, no. What a coward you are—always afraid of everything. There you are hesitating as long about throwing a card as if your life depended on it. Play a trump! play a trump! That is the way cowards always lose—they are afraid to play their trumps."
The opponents winked at each other maliciously.
"De posita non tibi," exclaimed the tobacconist.
"Si codillum non resultabit," assented Don Fermin.
The Alcalde, quaking with fear, proceeded, by Agonde's advice, to look through the tricks his partners had taken, in order to see how many trumps had been already played. Tropiezo and the tobacconist protested:
What a mania he had for examining the cards!
The Alcalde, somewhat tranquillized, resolved at last to put an end to his uncertainty, and with a few bold and decisive plays the hand ended, each player winning three tricks.
"A tie!" exclaimed the tobacconist and the apothecary almost simultaneously.
"You see! Playing as badly as you could you haven't lost the hand," said Agonde. "They needed all their cards to win what they did."
They were all absorbed in the game—whose interest was now at its height—with the exception of Segundo, who had abandoned himself to one of those idle reveries in which the activity of the imagination is stimulated by bodily ease. The voices of the players reached his ears like a distant murmur; he was a hundred leagues away; he was thinking of the article he had just been reading, of which certain expressions particularly encomiastic—mellifluous phrases in which the critic artfully glossed over the faults of the poet—had remained stamped on his memory. When would his turn come to be judged by the Madrid press? God alone knew. He lent his attention once more to the conversation.
"We must at least give him a serenade," declared Genday.
"A serenade, indeed!" responded Agonde. "A great thing that! Something more than a serenade—we must have some sort of a procession—a demonstration which will show that the people here are with him. We must appoint a committee to receive him with rockets and bands of music. Let those plotters at Doña Eufrasia's have something to rage about."
The name of the other shop produced a storm of exclamations, jests, and stamping of feet.
"Have you heard the news?" asked the waggish Tropiezo. "It seems that Nocedal has written a very flattering letter to Doña Eufrasia, saying that as he represents Don Carlos in Madrid so she, by reason of her merits, ought to represent him in Vilamorta."
Homeric bursts of laughter and a general huzza greeted this remark.
"Well, that may be an invention; but it is true, true as gospel, that Doña Eufrasia sent Don Carlos her likeness with a complimentary inscription."
"And the regiment? Have they fixed on the day on which it is to take the field?"
"Of course. They say that the Abbot of Lubrego is to command it."
The hilarity of the assembly was redoubled, for the Abbot of Lubrego was nearing his seventieth year, and was so feeble that he could scarcely hold himself on his mule. A boy at this moment entered the shop, swinging in his hand a glass bottle.
"Don Saturnino!" he cried, in a shrill voice.
"What is it you want?" answered the druggist, mimicking his tones.
"Give me some of what this smells like."
"All right," said Agonde, putting the bottle to his nose. "What does this smell like, Don Fermin?"
"Let me see—it smells something like—laudanum, eh?—or arnica?"
"Arnica let it be, it is less dangerous. I hope it will have a good effect."
"It is time to retire, gentlemen," said the Lawyer García, consulting his silver timepiece.
Genday stood up and Segundo followed his example.
The tresillo party proceeded to settle accounts; calculating winnings and losses, centavo by centavo, by means of white counters and yellow counters. After the close atmosphere of the shop the cool air of the street was grateful; the night was mild and clear; the stars shone with a friendly light and Segundo, who was quick to perceive the poetic aspect of things, felt tempted to leave his father and his uncle without ceremony and walk along the road, alone, according to his custom, to enjoy the beauty of the night. But his Uncle Genday linked his arm through his, saying:
"You are to be congratulated, my boy."
"Congratulated, uncle?"
"Weren't you crazy to get away from here? Didn't you want to take your flight to some other place? Haven't you a hatred for office work?"
"Good man," interposed the lawyer; "he is crazy enough as it is, and you want to unsettle his mind still more——"
"Hold your tongue, you fool! Don Victoriano is coming here, we will present the boy to him and ask him to give him a place. And he will give him one, and a good one too; for whether