Neither of the disputants had thought of the owner of the house. Ibarra saw him looking upon the scene and smiling with satisfaction.
“How is this, Don Santiago! Aren’t you going to sit down with us?”
But all of the seats were already occupied, and Lucullus did not dine in the house of Lucullus.
“Sit still! Don’t get up!” said Captain Tiago, laying his hand on the young man’s shoulder. “The fact is that this feast is given in honor of the Virgin on account of your safe arrival. Here! Bring on the tinola! I ordered some tinola made expressly for you, for I feel quite certain that you have not had any since you left the Philippines a long while ago.”
A large dish was brought in, still steaming and filled to the brim with tinola. The Dominican, after murmuring the Benedicite (to which only a few of those present could give the response), began to serve the contents of the dish. Either from carelessness or for some other reason, he passed to Father Dámaso a plate filled with the soup and stew, but containing only two small pieces of chicken, a bony neck and a tough wing. Meanwhile the others, especially Ibarra, were eating all sorts of choice bits. The Franciscan, of course, noticed this, mussed over the stew, took a mouthful of the soup, dropped his spoon with a clatter into his plate, and pushed the dish to one side. While this was going on, the Dominican appeared to be absorbed in conversation with the young blonde. Señor Laruja had also begun to converse with Ibarra.
“How long has it been since you were last in this country?” said he.
“About seven years,” responded Ibarra.
“You must have forgotten all about it.”
“On the contrary, although my country seems to have forgotten me, I have always kept her in mind.”
“What do you mean?” interposed the blonde.