"And the men—what do they go for?"
"To see the women, or put off time till the theatre opens."
"Bueno! I shall go to see the women, and hear the Padre—what the devil's his name?"
So Pedro hung a brass medal of the Madonna at his neck, bought a rosary as thick as a hawser, and went to the Matriz Church to vespers, and always fell asleep. Mass was too early for him, he was always a-bed then. As all the women were very old or very ugly, he soon grew tired of the eloquence of the Padres Ugarte and Eizagiuerro.
The latter was the most popular; the church was usually filled by a dense crowd, who stood, as there was no sitting space, and through whom Pedro's brawny arms and square shoulders forced a passage, without ceremony, right and left, straight up to the pulpit, in spite of crinoline or other obstructions, and reiterated exclamations of annoyance.
"Senor, the church is quite full!"
"So I see, senora. A charming place, isn't it?"
"Senor, you cannot pass further!" exclaimed someone else.
"I shall try," was the cool response.
"Senor, how can you be so troublesome?" exclaimed a young man angrily.