s, and a sombrero with a peaked crown.

It was his idea to dress himself so in place of his ordinary "b'hoy's"
fighting garb, so as to give greater force and relief to his portentous
sword-thrust of the day before. He walked slowly, with the assured and
overweening gait of a man satisfied with himself, casting keen glances
at those whom he passed, to see if they recognized him, and puffing
forth great clouds of smoke. Never had he felt so happy in body and
mind.

At the door of a "dairy" a young girl was seated with a book in her
hands. Enrique, as he passed, glanced at her, and the philanthropic
feelings which he felt toward every living thing caused him to pause a
moment and gaze at her with smiling eyes. The girl looked up with her
big black eyes, the expression of which was half proud and half
mischievous, and after staring at him for some time, she again gave her
attention to her book, showing marked indifference.

Enrique stepped up in front of her, and stopped, saying in mellifluous
accents:--

"What are you reading, my beauty?"

The girl again raised her eyes, and after staring at him sharply,
replied:--

"_The Lives of the Four Rascals._"

And she dwelt long on the last word.

Enrique was a little confused, but he stood with the smile still on his
lips. The girl again buried herself in her book. After a while she
raised her head once more, and said vivaciously, in an ironical tone, in
which her irritation was expressed:--

"Walk in, gent, walk in...."

"A thousand thanks, sweetheart," replied Enrique, entering the shop, and
standing just behind the girl.

She turned around to look at him, with a haughty gesture, and said very
gravely:--

"Man, I like you for your cheek!"

"And I like you for your sprightliness."

"Indeed! Since when?"

"Since I saw you from the corner of the street."

"Ay, how kind of you! And you knew as much as that, and kept it to
yourself!"

"Why, whom could I tell it to?"

"To your grandmother, my son."

"I haven't any; my grandmother died when I was a baby."

"What a monkey!"

"No; I used to be homelier than I am now."

"Didn't your papa have to teach you during vacation?"

"I don't remember.... Zounds! Do you consider me so ugly?"

"Why should I deceive you?... Ugly? why you are uglier than sin!"

"Manolita,"[26] cried the fruit-woman from across the way, "when did you
get up your awnings?"

"Just this very moment. How do you like them?"

"And so you