The Salvation of Pisco Gabar and Other Stories by Geoffrey Household Read Free Book Online

favor of being quiet!”
    â€œBut, man!” said Ramon. “Don’t you see how funny it is?”
    â€œIt is very serious. Please respect the public.”
    But now the public was aroused. “Shameless one!” … “Be decent!” … “You have no feeling!” … “Please, please, caballero! ” Nobody said, “Throw him out!” A gentle race. The little man switched off his torch in kindness to Ramon, and the show passed on in silence towards its climax. The villain died a violent death. The riding breeches were gathered into strong arms. The Agony was over.
    As we filed out, a tall and oldish man came abreast of us in the vestibule. He drew Ramon on one side, and turned up the lapel of his coat. Beneath it there was a large star made of silver paper.
    â€œ Soy el alguacil, ” he hissed. “I am the sheriff!”
    Ramon looked worried.
    â€œI wonder what induced him to make that star,” he said. “Well, well, I suppose it is just his fun.”
    â€œWho is he?” I asked.
    â€œDon Macario de la Fuente. But don’t you know el tio Macario? Uncle Macario? A hidalgo! A classic hidalgo! He might be any one of his ancestors!”
    â€œI should like to meet him,” I said.
    I was tired of modern, international Spain. True, by riding a mile out of Ventas I could see the country, arid, fantastic, unchanged by the centuries. But I was mixing with townsmen, and a town with a railway junction, a main road, and a couple of factories produces very much the same type of man in Spain as it does anywhere else.
    â€œLet us call on him to-morrow,” said Ramon. “He will be pleased to see us, and you will like him. But do not expect to be invited into the house. You understand?”
    I did. Unless a Spaniard is rich in his social class he will not ask you into his house. He expects to be treated as a prosperous man, and in return will treat you as such, spending his last dollar on your entertainment. But he spends it outside his house. Within it, the courteous pretense would be exposed.
    Don Macario lived in a low white house standing in its garden outside the town. A high wall enclosed the little estate. It was a satisfying house, but it had long needed a coat of paint, and there were broken panes in the many-windowed verandahs. There are such houses in most of the villages of Spain, built long ago by the younger sons of great families as a refuge for their gentility, and still inhabited by their last descendants. But even before the revolution the breed of these landless country gentlemen—the hidalgos—was dying out. They were losing the struggle for existence like some much harried animal, and there was no leisurely zoo to take care of them, except the court. But once at the court they became directors of companies, and were no longer hidalgos.
    We rode into the courtyard and found Don Macario feeding the chickens. He scattered the golden maize as if it were largess, with a wide and magnificent sweep of his arm, looking to right and to left of him. When he saw us his mouth set rather haughtily, and for an instant I doubted whether our reception was going to be as cordial as Ramon expected. Then his face puckered into a smile, changing him as completely as a cat’s-paw of wind changes the countenance of water.
    â€œ Hola, Ramon!” he cried. “Welcome, you and your friend!”
    We dismounted, and Ramon introduced me.
    â€œI am charmed to meet a representative of your great country,” said Don Macario.
    â€œI am greatly honored that you should say so, caballero, ” I replied.
    â€œYou are very courteous.”
    â€œYour countrymen have taught me to be so.”
    He laughed. “We have our ways,” he said. “But you too have taught us much. Vaya, vaya, what inventions! What pleasures! What discoveries!”
    â€œToys!” grunted Ramon. “Who discovered the New