His baggage had been brought to his room, so he devoted himself to unpacking his books, and to arranging them in a bookcase. It was still raining, and he had no desire to go out. It soon grew dark; for these were the shortest days of the year. He went down to the store, where he came upon Palomares, the old dependent of the house.
“How did you like England?” he was asked.
“Very much. It is a great country.”
“But a bad race, eh?”
“Ca, man! Better than ours.”
“Do you think so?”
“I certainly do.”
“Maybe you’re right. Have you seen the store?”
“Yes, this morning.”
“We’ve made a great fight here, my boy. We have worked wonders—your mother most of all. When she’s around, I can laugh at any other woman, no matter how clever she may be.”