.

"'My dear man; according,' I told him. 'A dealer would offer you a
hundred or two hundred pesetas apiece. In London or New York, well
placed, they might be worth twenty or thirty thousand francs.'

"The 'pater' shot fire out of his eyes.

"'And what would one have to do about it?' he asked me.

"'My dear man, I think one would have to take some good photographs and
send them to various trades-people and to the museums in the United
States.'

"'Would it be necessary to write in English?'

"'Yes, it would be the most practical thing.' "'I don't think there is
anybody here that knows how....'

"'I would do it, with great pleasure.'

"'But are you going to be here for some time?'

"'Yes, it is probable.'

"He asked me what I came to Castro Duro for, and I told him that I had
no other object than to visit Don Calixto Garcia Guerrero.

"Astonishment on the priest's face.

"'You know him?'

"'Yes, I met him in Rome.'

"'Do you know where he lives?'

"'No.'

"'Then I will take you.'

"The priest and I went out into the street. He wanted to give me the
sidewalk, and I opposed that as if it were a crime. He told me he was
more accustomed than I to walking on the cobble-stones; and finally, he
on the sidewalk and I in the gutter, we arrived at Don Calixto's house."

* * * * *

"Was he at home?" asked Alzugaray.

"Yes," said Caesar. "By the way, on the road there we bowed to the
present Deputy to the Cortes, he who will be my opponent in the
approaching election, Senor Garcia Padilla."

"Dear man! What a coincidence! What sort is he?"

"He is tall, with a reddish aquiline nose, a greyish moustache, full of
cosmetic, a poor type."

"He is a Liberal?"

"Yes, he is a Liberal, because Don Calixto is a Conservative. In his
heart, nothing."

"Good. Go on."

_DON CALIXTO AT HOME_

"As I was saying, Don Calixto was at home, in a large room on the ground
floor, which serves as his office. Don Calixto is a tall, supple man,
with the blackest of hair which is beginning to turn white on the
temples, and a white moustache. He is at the romantic age of illusions,
of hopes...." "How old is he?" asked Alzugaray.

"He isn't more than fifty-four," Caesar replied, sarcastically. "Don
Calixto dresses in black, very fastidiously, and the effect is smart,
but smacks of the notary. No matter what pains he takes to appear
graceful and easy in manner, he doesn't achieve the result; he has th