t might
be at the very end of the suburbs, or away out in the country. In a few
moments Cupido would put in an appearance to learn all about it, give
advice to those who might need it, arbitrate between disputants and
afterward tell the whole story with a thousand embellishments.

He had plenty of time on his hands for leading such a life. Two young
fellows, as crazy as their employer, tended shop. Cupido paid them with
music-lessons and meals--better or worse these latter, according to the
day's receipts, which were divided fraternally among the three. And if
the "boss" sometimes astonished the city by going out for a walk in
midwinter in a suit of white duck, they, not to be outdone, would shave
off their hair and eyebrows and show heads as smooth as billiard-balls
behind the shop windows, to the great commotion of the city, which would
flock _en masse_ to see "Cupido's Chinamen."

A flood was always a great day for the barber. He closed shop and
planted himself out on a bridge, oblivious to wind and rain, haranguing
the crowds of spectators, terrifying the stupid with his exaggerations
and inventions, and announcing hair-raising news which he asserted he
had just received from the Governor by telegraph, and according to
which, in two hours, there would not be a cellar-hole left of the place.
Even the miracle-working San Bernardo would be washed into the sea!

When Rafael found him upon the bridge that night, after the procession,
Cupido was on the point of coming to blows with several rustics, who had
grown indignant at his heresies.

Stepping aside from the crowd, the two began a conversation about the
dangers of the flood. Cupido, as usual, was well-informed. He had been
told a poor old man had been cut off in an orchard and drowned. That was
probably not the only accident that had taken place. Horses and pigs in
large numbers had drifted past under the bridge, early in the afternoon.

The barber talked earnestly and with some sadness, it seemed. Rafael
listened in silence, scanning his face anxiously, as if looking for a
chance to speak of something which he dared not broach.

"And how about the Blue House," he ventured finally, "that farm of dona
Pepa's where you go sometimes? Will anything be wrong down there?"

"It's a good solid place," the barber replied, "and this isn't the first
flood it's been through.... But it's right on the river, and by this
time the garden must be a lake; the water will surely b