The game was always seasoned with these remarks, which went on without pause.
When the days were long, these West Indians were seen in parties about the environs of the town, either walking, or seated on the grass on the banks of a stream. That was the hour of reminiscences of the tropics.
"Do you recollect, Don Agapito, do you recollect that little dark creature who came to you for a place in the shop?"
"And how well she sang, the little rogue!"
"They said you were smitten with her, quite smitten, Don Agapito."
"How now, Don Pancho—why, she only went to the blacks' ball with the negro of my partner, Don Justo?"
"Get along, man, don't annoy me; the one who went to the ball was yourself; I saw you sportive enough with her in the country dance."
There was no counting on this West Indian clique for subscriptions for the orchestra, theatre, or any public amusement. The young people of the town had to apply to the purses of their fathers, for they knew it was useless to expect American money to be forthcoming, which roused such indignation among the young people that they called them stingy fellows, boors, and money-laden asses to their faces as well as behind their backs. But the Indians were thick-skinned, and treated such terms with contempt. The one who professed an open aversion to them (and for whom did he not entertain it?) was Gabino Maza.
Why should these fifty idlers spend their days dawdling about the streets? If they would only devote their money to some industry profitable to the place!
When Don Melchor de las Cuevas and his nephew entered the saloon, the only person standing and gesticulating in the middle of the place was this same Gabino Maza.