“That’s where I sit,” said Sherry. “And now, be gad, I believe I remember you. Are you Becodar?”
“Si, senor.”
“Well, I’m damned!” Then, turning tome: “Lots of these fellows look so much alike that I didn’t recognise this one. He’s a character. Had a queer history. I’ll get him to tell it.”
We walked on, one on either side, Sherry using his hat to wave away the smell of garlic. Presently he said “Where’ve you been to-night, Becodar?”
“I have paid my respects to the Maison Dore, to the Cafe de la Concordia, to the Cafe Iturbide, senor.”
“And how did paying your respects pay you, Becodar?”
“The noble courtesy of these cafes, and the great consideration of the hidalgos there assembled rendered to me five pesos and a trifle, senor.”
“The poor ye have always with you. He that giveth to the poor lendeth to the Lord. Becodar has large transactions with Providence, mio amigo,” said Sherry.
The beggar turned his sightless eyes to us, as though he would understand these English words. Sherry, seeing, said: “We were saying, Becodar, that the blessed saints know how to take care of a blind man, lest, having no boot, he stub his toe against a stone.”
Off came Becodar’s hat. He tapped the wall. “Where am I, senor?” he asked.