"You are not drunk, by Gad, Alvaro! You are not drunk—I will tell you in a minute what the salaries are" (counting on his fingers.) "The tenor, six crowns; the treble, another six; that's twelve; the bass, four; that's sixteen; the contralto, three; that's nineteen; the baritone, four—"
"The baritone, five," interrupted Peña.
"The baritone, four," persisted Maza in a rage.
"I am certain it is five."
"The baritone, four!" roared Maza again.
Alvaro Peña now rose in his turn, fired with the noble desire of getting the better of his opponent, and then ensued a hot and furious dispute, which lasted about an hour, and all, or nearly all, the members of that gathering of celebrities joined in. Such a battle resembled the famous engagements that took place between the Greeks before the walls of Troy; there was the same fury and heat, the same primitive simplicity in the arguments, and the same candid, rough violence in the invectives.
"You are an addle-headed blunderer!"
"Hold your tongue; you are a ruffian!" "You are a bellowing ox!" "I tell you it is not true, and if you want it plainer, you lie!" "Goodness, what a goose! You are like a silly woman."
These altercations were very frequent, almost daily incidents at the Club. As all those who took part in them had a straightforward, perfectly primitive way of dealing with questions, similar, not to say equal, to that adopted by the heroes of Homer, the argument started at the beginning of the dispute continued until the end. There was a man who would spend an hour incessantly saying: "One has no right to meddle with anybody's private life!" or "That may do in Germany, but not here in Spain!"
Then cries briefer, and more to the point, such as "windbags!" "windbags!" filled the air until the crier collapsed on the sofa with exhaustion.