iculating, waving their arms,
spreading out their hands, stamping their feet, talking of levels,
fish-corrals, the San Mateo River, [2] of cascos, of Indians, and so
on, to the great satisfaction of their listeners and the undisguised
disgust of an elderly Franciscan, remarkably thin and withered,
and a handsome Dominican about whose lips flitted constantly a
scornful smile.

The thin Franciscan, understanding the Dominican's smile, decided
to intervene and stop the argument. He was undoubtedly respected,
for with a wave of his hand he cut short the speech of both at the
moment when the friar-artilleryman was talking about experience and
the journalist-friar about scientists.

"Scientists, Ben-Zayb--do you know what they are?" asked the Franciscan
in a hollow voice, scarcely stirring in his seat and making only a
faint gesture with his skinny hand. "Here you have in the province
a bridge, constructed by a brother of ours, which was not completed
because the scientists, relying on their theories, condemned it as
weak and scarcely safe--yet look, it is the bridge that has withstood
all the floods and earthquakes!" [3]

"That's it, _punales,_ that very thing, that was exactly what I was
going to say!" exclaimed the friar-artilleryman, thumping his fists
down on the arms of his bamboo chair. "That's it, that bridge and
the scientists! That was just what I was going to mention, Padre
Salvi--_punales!_"

Ben-Zayb remained silent, half smiling, either out of respect or
because he really did not know what to reply, and yet his was the only
thinking head in the Philippines! Padre Irene nodded his approval as
he rubbed his long nose.

Padre Salvi, the thin and withered cleric, appeared to be satisfied
with such submissiveness and went on in the midst of the silence:
"But this does not mean that you may not be as near right as Padre
Camorra" (the friar-artilleryman). "The trouble is in the lake--"

"The fact is there isn't a single decent lake in this country,"
interrupted Dona Victorina, highly indignant, and getting ready for
a return to the assault upon the citadel.

The besieged gazed at one another in terror, but with the promptitude
of a general, the jeweler Simoun rushed in to the rescue. "The remedy
is very simple," he said in a strange accent, a mixture of English
and South American. "And I really don't understand why it hasn't
occurred to somebody."

All turned to give him careful attention, even the Dominican