Every one in the hall listened in silence.
“But what?” asked Capitan Basilio.
“Very agreeable,” repeated the gobernadorcillo, “that is to say—I don’t agree—I mean—yes, but—” Here he rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. “But the curate,” the poor fellow went on, “the curate wants something else.”
“Does the curate or do we ourselves pay for this fiesta? Has he given a cuarto for it?” exclaimed a penetrating voice. All looked toward the place whence these questions came and saw there the Sage Tasio.
Don Filipo remained motionless with his eyes fixed on the gobernadorcillo.
“What does the curate want?” asked Capitan Basilio.
“Well, the padre wants six processions, three sermons, three high masses, and if there is any money left, a comedy from Tondo with songs in the intermissions.”
“But we don’t want that,” said the youths and some of the old men.
“The curate wants it,” repeated the gobernadorcillo. “I’ve promised him that his wish shall be carried out.”
“Then why did you have us assemble here?”