“Now, my friend, you do not know this Dr. Martinez. How do we know he will not take the money and spend it on himself, on dissipation, in short, to talk plainly between men, on francesas?”
“Francesas?” cried the countryman, with a puzzled air.
“Yes, on bad women, on those who sell their love,” explained the Porteño; “we call them francesas here in the city because so many of them come from France.”
“Ah, yes, I have heard there are such women in the cities, poor things,” said the farmer. “Also, it is only too true that this doctor may not be honest. But tell me, gentlemen, what am I to do? My poor papá dying down there in Bahía Blanca and——” again the poor fellow was weeping and it was lucky we were on a small side street behind the Once station or we should soon have had a crowd about us.
“Now, you do know us,” went on the Porteño, “even if only for a short time, and I propose that you turn this money over to us, let us place the five thousand in churches and hospitals we know of, and then divide the two thousand between us as our commission for our trouble, which we would surely be as much entitled to as Dr. Martinez, whom no one knows.”
To my astonishment the simple countryman jumped at the idea, either because he was too unsophisticated to suspect anyone, or too anxious to get back to his sick father to give any thought to the possibilities of fraud.
“Only, it is a commission of two thousand between you,” he specified, “not for each.”
“Surely, surely, we know that,” answered the Porteño.
We continued our stroll down the back street. The countryman, quite evidently relieved to have the matter off his mind, reached for the seven thousand pesos. Then an idea seemed to strike him, as if all our talk about the dangers of the city had at last awakened a bit of suspicion in his breast. He left the roll in his pocket and said smilingly ingenuously:
“But, señores—you will excuse my suggesting such a thing—but before I turn this seven thousand over to you—and I shall place it in the hands of this gentleman” (indicating me) “since I met him first, and you will give me a paper with your names saying you will use the money as my poor father desires—but just so I can say to him when I get back that I turned the commission over to two honest gentlemen, who will carry it out, I—you will excuse me, gentlemen, I am sure, if I speak frankly—I just want you to show me in some way that you are not indigent persons. In short—you will pardon me, señores—but just so my poor father can die in peace”—here he wiped another large tear from his wind-and-sun-burned cheek—“I wish to be able to tell him that you are persons of enough wealth so that you will not need to spend this money on yourselves, just some little proof, gentlemen.”