"In the last depths of poverty."
The owner of the printing-office considered a few moments, and said:—
"Before you could learn how to set type with any degree of rapidity, a long time would pass. Besides, it is not right that a caballero should soil his hands with ink. The only thing that you can do here is to help the proof-reader. Do you object?"
"I am ready to do whatever you order."
He spent that day, in fact, reading proofs. At night the proprietor told him that he would give him three pesetas a day salary until he dismissed the present proof-reader, who was a great drunkard. As he started to leave, he thrust into his hand a ten-duro bill as advance pay.
"Thanks, Don Manuel," he said, deeply touched. "In you, who are a workingman, I have found more generosity than in all the caballeros whom I have been to see up to the present time."
For several days he worked as well as he could, conscientiously fulfilling his task. It was hard and monotonous to the last degree; it kept him busy from early in the morning till night. Moreover, the very insignificant pay scarcely sufficed to buy potatoes; and although the proprietor was anxious to send away the proof-reader and give him the place, Miguel opposed it because he also was the father of a family, and had no other means of livelihood.
XXIX.
While they were in this destitute and most melancholy situation, it came to pass one afternoon just as he had come in from the printing-office that the bell rang. Juana announced that a very old caballero wanted to speak with him. He sent word for him to come in, and instantly there appeared in his study the old apothecary Hojeda.
"Don Facundo!" he cried, with genuine joy.