“Don Ramón don’t drink, don’t smoke.
Doña Carlota wished he would.
He’s going to wear the sky-blue cloak
That he’s stole from the Mother of God.”
“No, I’m not,” said Ramón, smiling. “Mine’s got a snake and a bird in the middle, and black zigzags and a red fringe. You’d better come and see it.”
“No, papa! I don’t want to.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t want to be mixed up in this affair. It makes us all look ridiculous.”
“But how do you think you look, anyhow, in your striped little sailor suit and your little saintly look? We’d better dress you as the Infant Jesus.”
“No, papa! You are in bad taste. One doesn’t say those things.”