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Updated: June 8, 2025
This was Senor Ignacio's mother. "And my wife?" the cobbler asked her. "She's gone washing." "And Salome Isn't she coming?" "No. She got some work in a house for the whole week." The old lady extracted from the basket a pot, dishes, napkins, cutlery, and a huge loaf of bread; she laid a cloth upon the floor and everybody squatted down around it.
There were two shoe shops opposite one another and both closed. Manuel's mother, who could not recall which was her relative's place, inquired at the tavern. "Senor Ignacio's over at the big house," answered the tavern-keeper. "I think the cobbler's come already, but he hasn't opened the shop yet." Mother and son had to wait until the shop was opened.
All the family thought a great deal of Caesar; his advice was followed at that house, and one of the operations on 'change that he recommended making with some Foreign bonds that Ignacio's mother was holding at the time of the Cuban War, gave everybody in the house an extraordinary idea of young Moncada's financial talents.
Ignacio's face was as blank as a wall, but knowingly, authoritatively blank. His brown eyes glistened with cold assurance. He seemed to have become the interpreter of a message in keeping with Mary's flight from the pass and her withdrawal from the porch when she had seen Jack approaching. Here was a new barrier which did not permit even banter across the crest.
Manuel returned to the lodging-house and Petra, through the intercession of the landlady, procured her son a job as errand-boy at a bread and vegetable stand situated upon the Plaza del Carmen. Manuel was here more oppressed than at Senor Ignacio's. Uncle Patas, the proprietor, a heavy, burly Galician, instructed the youth in his duties.
Yet this was explained by his love of color, his foible for the picturesque, his vagabond irresponsibility, and, mostly, by his latent savagery which she would hardly have been willing to apply to Ignacio's worshipful attachment to herself. Against him: Everything of any importance, except in the eyes of children and savages; everything in logic. He would not stand analysis at all.
"Yes, nowadays, we know," interrupted Senor Ignacio's mother. "Of two women there isn't one that's respectable." "A great ways any one'll go by being respectable," snarled Leandra. "Poverty and hunger.... If a woman weren't to get married, then she might make a change and even acquire money." "I don't see how," asserted Salome. "How? Even if she had to go into the business."
I mean backbone," he hastened to add, almost ingratiatingly. "It is a thing to control, Jack, not to worry about." "Yes, to control!" said Jack, dismally. He was hearing Ignacio's cry of "The devil is out of Señor Don't Care!" and seeing for the thousandth time Mary's horrified face as he pressed Pedro Nogales against the hedge.
Pedro was a half-breed, whose God among men was Pete Leddy no less than Jack was Firio's and the Doge was Ignacio's. In his shanty back of Bill Lang's the Mexicans and Indians lost their remaining wages in gambling after he had filled them with mescal. It happened that Gonzalez, head man of the laborers under Bob Worther, who had saved quite a sum, came away penniless after taking but one drink.
For a moment she was perhaps wondering how to take him; then with a suddenness that had been all unheralded in her former gravity, she smiled. With lips and eyes together as though she accepted his friendship. Ignacio's own smile broadened and he nodded his delight.
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