ing very different from what he was saying.

Then he began to discuss the merits of Lopez de Sosa, as if he were
already a member of the family.

"A good boy, isn't he, Pepe? A little stupid for us, unable to talk for
ten minutes without making us yawn, a fine fellow, but not our kind."

There was scorn in Renovales' voice as he spoke of the vigorous healthy
young men of the present, with their brains absolutely free from
culture, who had just assaulted life, invading every phase of it. What
people! Gymnastics, fencing, kicking a huge bull, swinging a mallet on
horseback, wild flights in an automobile; from the royal family down to
the last middle-class scion everyone rushed into this life of childish
joy, as if a man's mission consisted merely in hardening his muscles,
sweating and delighting in the shifting chances of a game. Activity fled
from the brain to the extremities of the body. They were strong, but
their minds lay fallow, wrapped in a haze of childish credulity. Modern
men seemed to stop growing at the age of fourteen; they never went
beyond, content with the joys of movement and strength. Many of these
big fellows were ignorant of women, or almost so, at the age when in
other times they were turning back, satiated with love. Busy running
without direction or end, they had no time nor quiet to think about
women. Love was about to go on a strike, unable to resist the
competition of sports. The young men lived by themselves, finding in
athletic exercise a satisfaction that left them without any desire or
curiosity for the other pleasures of life. They were big boys with
strong fists; they could fight with a bull and yet the approach of a
woman filled them with terror. All the sap of their life was used up in
violent exercise. Intelligence seemed to have concentrated in their
hands, leaving their heads empty. What was going to become of this new
people? Perhaps it would form a healthier, stronger human race, but
without love or passion, without any other association than the blind
impulse of reproduction.

"We are a different sort, eh, Pepe?" said Renovales with a sly wink.
"When we were boys we didn't care for our bodies so well, but we had
better times. We weren't so pure, but we were interested in something
higher than automobiles and prize cups; we had ideals."

Then he began to talk again of the young man who expected to become one
of his family and made sport of his mentality.

"If Milita decides on