"Mira V., hombre! Two nights ago, when my feet are worn away with more than ten leguas of walking on the railroad, I come to Baeza. It is dark, and I wander along the track to find a soft bank to sleep. On the short railroad that is at each station there is waiting a train of merchandise. Suddenly a great idea comes to me. 'Sh! Jesús,' I whisper, 'what if you should hide yourself away somewhere on this train of merchandise? It would perhaps bring you to the next station.'
"With great quiet I climb a wagon and hide myself between bales of cork. Screech! Brrr! Rboom! The train is off, and all night I am riding--without a ticket. But at Vilches the man that goes with the train with a lantern comes by and it is my curse to be making some noise, moving to roll a cigarette. 'Ya te 'pia!' (I spy you!) he cries. Vaca que soy! So of course I must get down. But mira, hombre! There I have traveled more than twelve miles without paying a perrito!"
I had not the heart to disillusion him with a yarn or two from the land of the "hobo."
In the telling we had come within sight of Valdepeñas. It was a "valley of rocks" indeed, though a city of good size and considerable evidence of industry, abounding with great bodegas, or wine warehouses. As we trudged through the long straight street that had swallowed up the highway, we passed the taller of a marble-cutter.
"It is in a place like this that Gásparo works," sighed Jesús, wandering languidly in at the open door. I was strolling slowly on when a whoop as of a man suddenly beset by a band of savages brought me running back into the establishment. Jesús was shaking wildly by both hands a stockily-built young fellow in shirt sleeves and white canvas apron, who was rivaling him in volubility of greeting. Gásparo was found.
Still shouting incoherently, the two left the shop and squatted in the shade along the outside wall.
"Hombre!" panted Jesús, when his excitement had somewhat died down. "I have told myself that by to-morrow we should be tramping the carretera together."
But Gásparo shook his head, sadly yet decisively.
"No, amigo. Jamás! Nunca! Never do I take to the road again. I have here a good job, the finest of patrons. No. I shall stay, and send for the amiga--or find another here."
With the dignity of a caballero, Jesús accepted the decree without protest, and wished his erstwhile comrade luck and prosperity. Then that they might part in full knowledge, he launched forth in the story of his journey from Seville. Gásparo listened absently, shaking his head sadly from time to time. When the episode of the amateur hoboing began, he sat up with renewed interest; before it was ended he was staring at the speaker with clenched fists, his eyes bulging, the cigarette between his lips stone-dead. From that great epic Jesús jumped without intermission to a hasty survey of the anticipated joys that lay between him and Madrid. Suddenly Gásparo sprang into the air with an explosive howl, landing on his feet.