“Well, now, señor mio, how shall I get along this month?” he would ask. Just then a providential apparition would present itself in Pepa, who would come to the rescue of her dear extortioner, while she screamed loudly, threatening Botello:
“Be quiet, be quiet! I will wait.”
“What of that?” the unfortunate youth would reply; “he has not left me even a dime to buy tobacco.”
Pepa would then put her hand in her pocket, and, drawing out a grimy quarter, would exclaim:
“There now, buy yourself a package of cigarettes.”
But when Pepa’s quarters were scarce, or even when they were not, Botello would have recourse to the Portuguese. He would be in the latter’s room as soon as he heard him strike a match to light a cigarette, and half jokingly, half in earnest, would tease for some, until the best part of the package would find its way into the Bohemian’s pocket. As the Portuguese was accustomed to the ways and disposition of little Dumas,—who was a genuine artist, as he solemnly assured everybody he met,—he never took his jokes seriously, nor did he get offended on account of the marauding inroads into his pockets. On the contrary, one would say that the musical physician’s heart was wonderfully drawn to Botello by his very pranks, even though he often carried his practical jokes too far. I will mention one as an instance.
As the Portuguese was obliged to make calls and to present his letters of recommendation, in order to hasten the execution of his business, he ordered a hundred very glossy visiting-cards with his name, “Miguel de los Santos Pinto,” engraved in beautiful script. Botello happened to see them, and showed them to everybody in the house; expressing his amazement that a Portuguese should have so few surnames. He wanted to add at least, “Teixeira de Vasconcellos Palmeirim Junior de Santarem do Morgado das Ameixeiras,” so that it should be more in character. We got that out of his head, but his next idea was even worse. He surreptitiously laid hold of the pen and India ink, which I used for my drawings and my plans, and wrote carefully under “Miguel de los Santos Pinto” this appendage, “Corno de Boy” (Ox-horn). In order not to take the trouble of adding it to all the cards, he did so to twenty-five only, and hid the rest.
The next day the Portuguese went out to make some calls, and left ten or twelve of the cards at different places. The following Sunday he met an acquaintance in Arenal Street, who, half-choked with laughter, stopped him, saying, “Why, Don Miguel, is your name really Corno de Boy? Is there any such name in your country?”
“What do you mean?” said the embarrassed Portuguese. “Of course not; my name is simply Santos Pinto; nothing more.”
“Well, just look at this card.”