United States or Réunion ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
The ragdealer looked over the contents of the bundle, made a second inventory, and then in a jesting tone, with a rough voice, asked: "Where did you steal this?" The three associates chorused their protestation, but the ragpicker paid no heed. "I can't give you more than three pesetas for the whole business." "No," answered Vidal. "Rather than accept that we'll take the bundle with us."
Senor Custodio had, too, several volumes of novels in serial form that had been left behind by his daughter, and Manuel began to read them aloud. The comment of the ragdealer, who took this fiction for historic truth, was always perspicacious and just, revelatory of an instinct for reasoning and common sense.
Vidal seized the coin that the ragdealer threw at him, and, as none was sure of himself, they made off hurriedly. When they reached Dolores' house in Las Cambroneras, they were bathed in perspiration, exhausted. They ordered a flask of wine from the tavern, "A rotten bungle we made of it, hang it all," grumbled Vidal.
The betrothal of El Carnicerin and Justa was formally arranged, Senor Custodio and his wife bathed in rose water, and only Manuel believed that in the end the wedding would never take place. El Carnicerin was all together too haughty and too much of a fine fellow to marry the daughter of a ragdealer; Manuel imagined that now the butcher's son would try to take advantage of his opportunity.
Senor Custodio was exceedingly eager for knowledge, and if it weren't that the notion struck him as ridiculous, he would have set about learning how to read and write. In the afternoon, work done, he would ask Manuel to read the newspapers and the illustrated reviews that he picked up on the streets, and the ragdealer and his wife listened with the utmost attention.
"See here," said the ragdealer, "you come along with me. I need a boy ... I'll feed you." Manuel looked at the man without replying. "Well, do you want to or not? Hurry up and decide." Manuel lazily arose. The rag man, sack slung across his shoulder, climbed the slope of the embankment until he reached Rosales Street, where he had a cart drawn by two donkeys.
"All right. The first guard I meet I'll inform against you and tell him that you're carrying stolen goods on your person." "Come across with the three pesetas," said Vidal. "Take the bundle." Vidal took the money and the ragdealer, laughing, took the package. "The first guard we see we'll tell that you've got stolen goods in your sack," shouted Vidal to the ragdealer.
Sometimes they went by way of Melancolicos Avenue; others, by the Rondas or through Segovia Street. Winter was coming on; at the hour when they sallied forth Madrid was in complete darkness. The ragdealer had his fixed itinerary and his schedule of call stations.
A monosabio approached the horse, who was still quivering; the animal raised his head as if to ask help, whereupon the man stabbed him to death with a poniard. "I'm going. This is too nasty for anything," said Manuel to Senor Custodio. But it was no easy matter to leave the ring at that moment. "The boy," said the ragdealer to his wife, "doesn't like it."
The leaves of vegetables went into the hampers; rags, paper and bones went into the sacks; the half-burned coke and coal found a place in a bucket and dung was thrown into the back of the cart. Manuel and the ragdealer returned early in the morning; they unloaded the cart on the flat earth before the door, and husband, wife and the boy would separate and classify the day's collection.
Word Of The Day