"Whatever I'm given."
"And do you manage to do well?"
Either the foundling did not understand the question or it appeared quite silly to him, for he merely shrugged his shoulders. Manuel continued his curious interrogatory.
"Aren't your feet cold?"
"No."
"And don't you do anything?"
"Psch! … whatever turns up. I pick up stubs, I sell sand, and when I can't earn anything I go to the María Cristina barracks."
"What for?"
"What for? For a meal, of course."
"And where's this barracks?"