"Why," drawled Arnedo, with an air of importance nevertheless, "he is the brother of one of my best conquests. Don't you all remember Eugenia?"
Nacha turned cold. Did Monsalvat know? Where was this Eugenia? Was she, too, part of "the life"? Ah, yes; that was it! That explained Monsalvat's actions, and his fervent words of that afternoon. So, then, he was not in love with her! The interest he showed in her was the interest he had in all girls sharing his sister's lot. How stupid not to have thought of that before! Of course! How could a man like Monsalvat care for an outcast like "Lila," like Nacha Regules!
Another guest, the man in the dinner-coat, a tall and skinny youth, whom his companions, out of regard for his large-boned nose, called "the Parrot," declared that Monsalvat wrote for the Patria, where articles had appeared signed with that name; whereupon all four men felt moved to express their scorn for this "literary fellow," a man who spent his time reading trash and writing nonsense and could only be an utter ninny. These young descendants of Moreira were, for that matter, quite sincere in the contempt they voiced. Products of the aggressive money-making illiteracy of the Argentine, they instinctively hated the "intellectual" as a menace to the power of their class, and could not look upon students and scientists save with disdainful hostility. From their point of view any man under forty who lived for something besides "a good time" was beyond comprehension. They despised books and newspapers; for they vaguely realized that in these lay a power of intelligence destined sooner or later to put an end to the half-breed barbarism incarnate in themselves.
As the dinner went on, the patoteros tried to exhibit their brilliancy. But wit for them consisted at best in anecdotes of the sort known in Argentina as "German jokes"; in pelting one another with bread pills; or in suddenly bursting out with some deafeningly loud rendition of a snatch from a music hall ballad. One of their best numbers was "the Duck's" weeping act, his most successful parlor stunt. Then "the Parrot" would rise from his place, disappear, and return wearing a woman's hat; or Pampa, flourishing his revolver, would pretend he was fighting a duel, seasoning his antics with picturesque obscenities from the jargon of a well-known vaudeville act. The others, meanwhile, acted as chorus and audience, laughing, and contributing an assortment of musical accompaniments.
Nacha was now quite merry; she began to sing, beating time on her glass with a spoon. The others took up the suggestion, and improvised an orchestra. "The Parrot" jumped up on the table to conduct, the others remaining in their places.
"Get down off of that!" yelled Arnedo.
The maid stopped in the doorway, doubling up with laughter at this uproarious scene. Shrieks, explosions of mirth, snatches of song, the clink of glasses, exclamations, and words from the gutter mingled in a deafening din. Suddenly it occurred to Nacha to begin a jota. Arnedo rushed at her, clasped her in his arms and bellowed:
"That's the way I like to see you, my little nigger!"
"I suppose so," said Nacha, throwing him off, "but what about your 'nigger' in Belgrano? You can do without me, now that you've found someone who can stand you!"
Arnedo stopped short, paralyzed for the moment. Then his eyes slowly went the rounds of his friends. Befuddled as he was, he could not remember to which one of them he had mentioned this affair. He turned, finally, on Nacha.