(_ORIGINALLY INTENDED FOR THE F-RTN-GHTLY R-V-W._)
"Yes, I'm better, and the Doctor tells me I've escaped once more.
That Doctor hates you--I know it. He has saved me--to tell you the
story--The story _I_ have been trying to tell to some one for thirty
years."
I was talking to Old MONTI, whose full name was MONTI DI PIETA--as a
pledge of his respectability. He was a descendant of the Pornbrocheros
del Treballos d'Oro. He was subsequently called Monkey--as a tribute
to his character.
"I should like you to tell me," I said, "for you must know that for
years I have seen the snows on the Lagartigo, and the moonlight on
the--"
"Stop!" he cried--"you are going to begin padding. That will do for a
magazine, not for me!" and he snapped his fingers at me.
But I was not to be put off. He was weak--a cripple--and I gave him
the choice of listening to a personally-conducted tour in the South of
Spain, or relating his adventures.
"I will have my revenge!" he muttered. "You shall hear my life from
the beginning. You must know, then, that sixty years ago I was born,
and--"
"Yes," I returned, interrupting him--"of poor parents. Your father
was coarse, your mother pious. You learned all you could about bulls,
which you kept from your father, and you were ultimately engaged as a
bull-fighter--"
"Stop, stop!" he cried. "If you cut out about a dozen pages of my
biography, at least let me explain how I saved my father. You must
know--"
"I will do it for you in a line," I said, sharply. "Your father lost
his temper, and tried bullying the bull (no joke), and you winked
at the animal. He knew you, and stood still. The bull went for your
father--you for the bull. Drive on!"
"Let me tell you then, how I prepared myself for the Ring by
practising on a dummy bull.--I had no difficulty in sticking pins into
it--it was quite calm. Then I tried the same game on a sheep, and
got knocked down for my pains! One of my monkey tricks! Then I got
acquainted with some Irish bulls, and letting them off on my friends
got several thumps on the head."
"No," I interrupted him sternly, "get on with your story."
"Well, at length I met JUAN at the beginning of May."
"Make it first of April," I said, severely.
"He was the Toreador out of _Carmen_, to put it shortly," he
continued, not deigning to notice my interruption--"and he introduced
me to the bull-fight. Of course I had to pay my footing (a very
uncertain one) in _duros_, or hard cash. Then every morning I ate a
_chuto_ (a sort of small cabbage) at my dinner--then they tried me as
a _capa_, to test (so they said) my capability. The chief patron was
the Duke of MEDICINA, who in early youth had been a doctor--hence his
title--and I shall never forget his first greeting."
"Your story!" I interrupted, sternly, finding that the old man was
once more becoming tedious.
"I returned," replied the dotard, with a senile chuckle, "that he was
wrong. His answer was beyond my meaning--he muttered something about
'mutton and _capa_ sauce.' I was engaged," continued the dotard, with
a feeble grin, "as a _capa_ for seventy years certain, with an annual
benefit once in four years, with a salary of forty-two thousand a
year--which in those days seemed to me to be a small fortune."
[Illustration: "They made an Idol of me."]
"They are wretchedly paid in Spain," I observed.
"They are," he acquiesced. "I was paid a week in advance, and have
lived upon the proceeds ever since. And now my life was indeed a merry
one. I was free of the Ring. Now I played the cornet in the _Brassos
Banderillos_, and my performance pleased the _aficionados_ (or
advertising agents) so well, that my name was known throughout the
Peninsula."
"Well," once more I interrupted, "I suppose you met a Spanish beauty,
fell in love with her, and was cut out by a party of the name of
JUAN?"
"However do you think of such clever things?" asked the old man, in a
tone of extreme astonishment. "But you are right. I placed CLEMENCIA
one day in the _pal co_ (or part reserved for friends), and the bull
tossed me. Ah, she trampled upon me--treated me like a mat. But I
loved her and adored myself. Hence I was called a 'Mat-Adorer.' I
repeat, the bull tossed me, and I did not come down heads."
"Go on."
"I was ill, and neglected, but soon recovered sufficiently to kill
sixty-six bulls in succession."
"Surely you are exaggerating?"
"You are perfectly right," he answered, with a blush. "I killed
sixty-five--the sixty-sixth was only mortally wounded. And now the
people made an idol of me. I was absolutely worshipped"--
"Come to the point," I said, in a tone that showed I was not to be
trifled with.
"No _that_ was the fate of JUAN. At the end of a game of _toros_
(which is Spanish for marbles) he said to me (in excellent Spanish),
'MONTI, me bhoy, philaloo! ye will shtay by me?' 'That will I--as
shure as me name is TIM--I should say MONTI,' I responded, in choice
Castilian. The bull came up, I looked him in the eye, raised my
_shillalo_ (a short Spanish club), and, crying 'Whist!' he cut for
partners. JUAN was cut a deal."
"That bull was a ripper," I murmured.
"Bedad he was that, Sorr," returned the dotard, whose Spanish became
more and more Castilian every moment. "CLEMENICA died the next
morning. But I am remorseful--that I did not kill her myself. And
now I have had my revenge! I have told ye the story! I know you--your
name's H-A-R-"--
He gave a gasp and died.
But I too had _my_ revenge. I sent the tale I had just heard to the
_F-rtn-ghtly R-v-w_.