"He gets, let us say, three times a week's wage in the five weeks.... I don't mind, call it an average of twenty pesetas if you like, or even eighteen."
"What is an 'average'?" said the Andorran, frowning.
"An average," said the Englishman impatiently, "oh, an average is what he gets all lumped up."
"Do you mean," said the Andorran gravely, "that he gets eighteen pesetas every Saturday?"
"No, no, NO!" struck in the Englishman. "Twenty-five pesetas, as you call them, when he can get work, and nothing when he can't."
"Good Lord!" said the Andorran, with wide eyes and crossing himself. "How does the poor fellow know whether perlice will not be at him again? It is enough to break a man's heart!"
"Well, don't argue!" said the Englishman, keen upon his tale. "He gets an average, anyhow, of eighteen pesetas, as you call them, a week. Now you see, however wretched he is, five of those will go in rent, and if he is a decent man, seven."
The Andorran was utterly at sea. "But if he is wretched, why should he pay, and if he is decent why should he pay still more?" he asked.
"Why, damn it all!" said the Englishman, exploding, "a man must live!"
"Precisely," said the Andorran rigidly, "that is why I am asking the question. He pays this tax, you say, five pesetas, if he is wretched and seven if he is decent. But a man may be decent although he is wretched, and who is so brutal as to ask a tax of the poor?"