"Very well."
They went out of the office and passed slowly through the shops,
stopping to examine the mechanism of each process, which Utrilla
explained in a loud voice. From time to time he would say in an
imperious tone:--
"Jose, run this mould!... Enrique, lift this lid!"
The workmen were in no haste to obey these orders, and he had to repeat
them in a voice which any operatic basso would have envied.
The ex-cadet's factory garb could not have been more
appropriate,--trousers of drilling, red shirt, shoes, and an old coat
with the collar turned up. Although it was very warm, Utrilla, both on
the street and at home, always wore his collar this way, which gave him
the appearance of being a very dissipated man, and this was something
that delighted him.
In the rooms where the women were working, Utrilla allowed himself to
take some liberties with the operatives, such as winking at them,
twitching at their handkerchiefs, and making this or that dubious little
witticism.
"You will excuse me, Don Miguel; these are the bad habits of military
life. Though one were going to be shot, one couldn't help saying some
nonsense to the girls."
"All right, all right, friend Utrilla; don't incommode yourself on my
account."
"Man alive, you are going now to see something very original which I
happened to think of doing the other day. You will be surprised.... The
foreman of the shop said to me, 'What you don't think of, the Devil
himself would not, think of!'"
"Let us see it."
He then took him to the storeroom, and opening a closet, showed him a
number of packages of candles with lithographed labels, which read:--
+--------------------+
| JULIA |
| (Bujia Extrafina). |
+--------------------+
"How is that?" he demanded, with radiant and triumphant face.
"Very pretty! very delicate!" replied Miguel, smiling.
"Take a package!"
"My dear fellow, no, thank you!"
"Nonsense! take one. If you don't, then I shall send one to you."
From there he took him to a room that was a sort of incommodious private
office, with a wretched straw-stuffed sofa, a few chairs, and a table
with a writing-desk on it; on the wall hung a panoply with the cadet's
military outfit,--sword, belt, spurs, and a couple of foils and a
fencing-mask.
Utrilla confessed to his friend that he could not look at this panoply
without sadness, recollecting "the happy days in the service."
"What life is so happy as the military! Believe me, Senor Rivera, that
in spite of the strictness of the rules, I miss it immensely."
Afterwards he offered him a cigar, and taking out a huge meerschaum
mouthpiece, he began calmly to color it, calling up at the same time,
with a veteran's satisfaction, various anecdotes of his academy life.
"That cigarette-holder is very pretty: what does it represent?"
"A cannon on a pile of projectiles; I beg of you to take it, Don
Miguel."
"I do not need it," replied Rivera, handing it back.... "It is in very
good hands."
"But I should be much better pleased to have you keep it, and I won't
take it."
"Come now, friend Utrilla, don't be so lavish."
"Throw it down if you please, but I will not take it."
There was nothing to be done but keep it.
Then the former cadet brought the conversation round to Julia, and
besought her brother's intercession, as he had written her four letters
and had received not a single answer.
"You will understand, my dear Utrilla," said Miguel, becoming serious,
"that this is a very delicate matter, and that I have no right to mix
myself up in your affairs."
"The trouble is," rejoined the ex-cadet, with a sigh, "with the
passionate nature which God gave me, I sent her a letter to-day, telling
her that if she persisted in her conduct, she would do me the favor
never to write to me again, ... and I am afraid that she is really
offended."
"I am afraid," said Miguel, laughing, "that your command will be
fulfilled to the letter."
The cadet remained for several moments pensive and gloomy. Then shaking
himself from his melancholy stupor, and passing his hand over his
forehead, he said:--
"By the way, Don Miguel, you have not washed your hands."
Rivera looked at him in surprise.
"One always gets dirty in the factory," continued the cadet. "Here is a
bowl and soap for you."
"Thank you; my hands are not dirty."
But Utrilla at the same time offered him a china bowl filled with clear
water, and the soap-dish, in such a way that Miguel rather than appear
the enemy of cleanliness yielded and washed his hands. The soap was
strongly scented with orange.
"Do you know this soap is very fine and pleasant?" said Rivera, so as to
say something.
"Do you like it?... Then I am going to give you a cake of it."
"My friend, I beg of you!"
Utrilla, without heeding his protests, got the soap out of the desk,
wrapped it up in a piece of paper, and almost by main force thrust it
into his pocket. From that time forth Miguel took care not to commend
anything which he happened to touch.
As he was going, the ex-cadet shook his hand ardently, and said in a
voice full of emotion:--
"Don't fail to speak to her. If you knew how sad and desperate I am."
The truth of the matter was that he had good reason to be, as will
appear in the next chapter.