Part 18 (1/2)

”Perhaps Don Alonso, t.i.tiri, would know. If you'll be so kind, tell me where you're going, and I'll have t.i.tiri look you up.”

”All right. You tell him that we'll be waiting for him at the San Millan cafe at nine o'clock,” said Roberto.

”And how are we going to recognize this fellow?” asked Manuel.

”That's so,” said Roberto. ”How are we going to know him?”

”Easy. He goes around nights through the cafes with one of those apparatuses that sings songs.”

”You mean a phonograph?”

”That's it.”

At this juncture an old woman appeared in the entrance, shouting:

”Who was the dirty son of a b.i.t.c.h that broke the lantern?”

”Shut up, shut up,” answered the mule-driver. ”It's all paid for.”

”Come along!” said Manuel to Roberto.

They left the inn and strode off at a fast clip. They entered the San Millan cafe. Roberto ordered supper. Manuel knew Tabuenca from having seen him in the street, and as they ate he explained to Roberto just what sort of fellow he was.

Tabuenca made his living through a number of inventions that he himself constructed. When he saw that the public was tiring of one thing, he would put another on the market, and so he managed to get along. One of these contraptions was a wafer-mold wheel that revolved around a circle of nails among which numbers were inscribed and colours painted. This wheel the owner carried about in a pasteboard box with two covers, which were divided into tiny squares with numbers and colours corresponding to those placed around the nails, and here the bets were laid. Tabuenca would carry the closed box in one hand and a field table in the other. He would set up his outfit at some street corner, give the wheel a turn and begin to mutter in his whining voice;

”'Round goes the wheel. Place your bets, gentlemen.... Place your bets. Number or colour ... number or colour.... Place your bets.”

When enough bets were placed,--and this happened fairly often,--Tabuenca would set the wheel spinning, at the same time repeating his slogan: ”'Round goes the wheel!” The marble would bounce amidst the nails and even before it came to a stop the operator knew the winning number and colour, crying: ”Red seven....” or ”the blue five,” and always he guessed right.

As Manuel spoke on, Roberto became pensive.

”Do you see?” he said, all at once, ”these delays are what provoke a fellow. You have a capital of will in bank-notes, gold-pieces, in large denominations, and you need energy in centimos, in small change.

It's the same with the intelligence; that's why so many intelligent and energetic men of ambition do not succeed. They lack fractions, and in general they also lack the talent to conceal their efforts. To be able to be stupid on some occasions would probably be more useful than the ability to be discreet on just as many other occasions.”

Manuel, who did not understand the reason for this shower of words, stared open-mouthed at Roberto, who sank again into his meditations.

For a long time both remained silent, when there came into the cafe a tall, thin man with greyish hair and grey moustache.

”Can that be t.i.tiri, Don Alonso?” asked Roberto.

”Maybe.”

The gaunt fellow went from table to table, exhibiting a box and announcing: ”Here's a novelty. Here's somethin' new.”

He was about to leave when Roberto called him.

”Do you live at Cuco's hostelry?” he asked.

”Yes, sir.”

”Are you Don Alonso?”