“What a queer friar, and how nice he is!”
“Come now, I can guess what you are thinking about,” said he.
“Perhaps you can. Go on, and I’ll tell you if you are right.”
“Well, then, you are thinking under your coat, there, that we friars pay little attention to our manners, that we are very democratic, and don’t understand the ways of society; and, besides, that we are very crafty in our dealings with people.”
“No, indeed, sir, by no means! I was thinking——”
“Call me Father Moreno, or simply, Moreno, if it is the same to you. That ‘sir’ sounds too formal for a poor friar.”
“Well, Father Moreno, what I was puzzling over—but there, I am afraid if I tell you I shall offend you.”
“By no means, by no means. I like frankness.”
“Well, I was thinking that friars do not generally have the reputation of being so—so much devoted to bodily cleanliness as you are.”
While saying this, I was looking at him out of the corner of my eye, examining his hands, his ears, his neck; all which outwardly betray a person’s habits of cleanliness.