et it at the bank--operations you don't
understand."

But Milita, encouraged by her victory, insisted on her request with
desperate obstinacy. He was deceiving her; he would not remember it the
next day; she knew her father. Besides, she needed the money at
once,--her honor was at stake (she declared it seriously) if her friends
discovered that she was in debt.

"This very minute, papa. Don't be horrid. Don't amuse yourself by making
me worry. You must have money, lots of it, perhaps you have it on you.
Let's see, you naughty papa, let me search your pockets, let me look at
your wallet. Don't say no; you have it with you. You have it with you!"

She plunged her hands in her father's breast, unbuttoning his working
jacket, tickling him to get at the inside pocket. Renovales resisted
feebly. "You foolish girl. You're wasting your time. Where do you think
the wallet is? I never carry it in this suit."

"It's here, you fibber," his daughter cried merrily, persisting in her
search. "I feel it! I have it! Look at it!"

She was right. The painter had forgotten that he had picked it up that
morning to pay a bill and then had put it absent-mindedly in the pocket
of his serge coat.

Milita opened it with a greediness that hurt her father. Oh, those
woman's hands, trembling in the search for money! He grew calmer when he
thought of the fortune he had amassed, of the different colored papers
which he kept in his desk. All would be his daughter's and perhaps this
would save her from the danger toward which her longing to live amid the
vanities and tinsel of feminine slavery was leading her.

In an instant she had her hands on a number of bills of different
denominations, forming a roll which she squeezed tight between her
fingers.

Renovales protested.

"Let me have it, Milita, don't be childish. You're leaving me without a
cent. I'll send it to you to-morrow; give it up now. It's robbery."

She avoided him; she had stood up; she kept at a distance, raising her
hand above her hat to save her booty. She laughed boisterously at her
trick. She did not mean to give him back a single one! She did not know
how many there were, she would count them at home, she would be out of
difficulty for the nonce, and the next day she would ask him for what
was lacking.

The master finally began to laugh, finding her merriment contagious. He
chased Milita without trying to catch her; he threatened her with mock
severity, called her a rob