Maximina Part 22

"I hurried?" exclaimed Enrique, flus.h.i.+ng. "Man alive! it seems to me you have about as good an idea of bull-fighting as the lining of my trousers!... Don't you dare to say that I hurried!"

His modesty, which was "only fastened with pins," was quickly lost. The servant, seeing the ill-effect of his criticism, was anxious to amend it.

"No; but certainly it was a superior skirmish; and it makes no difference whether it was done quick or slow."

"No matter at all; we have talked enough, and I don't care to hear any more such nonsense...."

And Enrique opened the door to let him out, and slammed it behind him, muttering:--

"The devil take the stupid fellow! Ricardito must have given him that idea about hurrying.... That rascal had better be ashamed of himself, and not let Felipe Gomez hold his bull by the leg."

And fully persuaded that the stain on his rival's honor could not be wiped out by all the perfumes of Arabia, he remained tolerably calm. The reading of the journals, and the presence of the b.l.o.o.d.y ear, mute witness of his courage, finally restored him to complete tranquillity.

But one thing afterwards occurred to disturb his peace of mind, and that was the way of preserving his trophy. If it were left in its present state, it would soon become offensive. Should he put it in alcohol? Then the hair would come off, and it would be turned into a piece of ugly gristle. Should he have it mounted? He would have to go out and make inquiries. He made up his mind to go immediately after dinner to Severini, the great taxidermist of San Jeronimo Avenue.

At dinner the talk turned on the bull-fight. Don Bernardo had already been informed by the newspapers of his son's prowess; and though secretly, at the bottom of his heart, he was flattered by the applause that he had won, he did not fail to appear stern, and to chide him, although not as severely as sometimes.

"Come now, Enrique, let this be the last time that you make a public exhibition of yourself in this way. You know that I do not like to have a son of mine play the role of _torero_, even though he do it well."

Enrique understood well that his father was not really angry, and was a.s.sured of the truth of the old adage, "Success pardons all dubious steps."

He lighted his cigar, wrapped the b.l.o.o.d.y ear in a rag, put it in his pocket, and went down into the street, directing his steps toward the Cafe Imperial, with the hope of there receiving fresh congratulations from his intelligent friends, and to spend the whole afternoon talking about the bull-fight of Vallecas: on the way he intended to call at Severini's.

It was half-past three, and pretty hot. Our lieutenant (for he had been promoted) was walking along the Calle del Bano, dressed in the latest style, in Prince Albert coat tightly b.u.t.toned up, light pantaloons, patent leather boots, and a sombrero with a peaked crown.

It was his idea to dress himself so in place of his ordinary "b'hoy's"

fighting garb, so as to give greater force and relief to his portentous sword-thrust of the day before. He walked slowly, with the a.s.sured and overweening gait of a man satisfied with himself, casting keen glances at those whom he pa.s.sed, to see if they recognized him, and puffing forth great clouds of smoke. Never had he felt so happy in body and mind.

At the door of a "dairy" a young girl was seated with a book in her hands. Enrique, as he pa.s.sed, glanced at her, and the philanthropic feelings which he felt toward every living thing caused him to pause a moment and gaze at her with smiling eyes. The girl looked up with her big black eyes, the expression of which was half proud and half mischievous, and after staring at him for some time, she again gave her attention to her book, showing marked indifference.

Enrique stepped up in front of her, and stopped, saying in mellifluous accents:--

"What are you reading, my beauty?"

The girl again raised her eyes, and after staring at him sharply, replied:--

"_The Lives of the Four Rascals._"

And she dwelt long on the last word.

Enrique was a little confused, but he stood with the smile still on his lips. The girl again buried herself in her book. After a while she raised her head once more, and said vivaciously, in an ironical tone, in which her irritation was expressed:--

"Walk in, gent, walk in...."

"A thousand thanks, sweetheart," replied Enrique, entering the shop, and standing just behind the girl.

She turned around to look at him, with a haughty gesture, and said very gravely:--

"Man, I like you for your cheek!"

"And I like you for your sprightliness."

"Indeed! Since when?"

"Since I saw you from the corner of the street."

"Ay, how kind of you! And you knew as much as that, and kept it to yourself!"

"Why, whom could I tell it to?"

"To your grandmother, my son."

"I haven't any; my grandmother died when I was a baby."

"What a monkey!"

"No; I used to be homelier than I am now."

"Didn't your papa have to teach you during vacation?"

"I don't remember.... Zounds! Do you consider me so ugly?"

"Why should I deceive you?... Ugly? why you are uglier than sin!"

"Manolita,"[26] cried the fruit-woman from across the way, "when did you get up your awnings?"

"Just this very moment. How do you like them?"

"And so your name is Manolita?" asked Enrique

"No, siree; my name is Manuela."

"How witty and how delicious you are!"

"When did you ever taste me?"

Manolita was a _chula_ or "gal" in her behavior, in her gestures, in her dress, in the p.r.o.nunciation of her words, and in all that she did; but she was a very charming _chula_; and that is no miracle, for there are girls like Alexandrine roses in these blessed streets of ours.

Her face was oval, rather pale; her eyes were black, with pink circles under them; her hair was also black, and she wore it in ringlets around the temples; her teeth were white and small, and set close together; her expression that mixture of grave and scornful which is natural to every _chula_ who has not as yet "gone to the dogs."

"Why did you say that you were going to finish your walk this moment?"

Enrique had not said any such thing.

"Before going I wish you would give me a gla.s.s of milk."

Manolita got up solemnly from the chair, leaving her book in it, and went to the counter, and without saying a word filled a gla.s.s with milk, put it on a plate, and set it on one of the three or four marble tables that were there; then seeing that Enrique did not sit down, but stood motionless in the middle of the shop, following all her movements, she paused suddenly, and said in that ironical tone that never left her lips:--