Three men and a boy were at work before the cases; one of the men, a lame fellow in a long blue smock, a derby, with a sour face and spectacles on his nose, was pacing up and down the room.
Roberto greeted the lame fellow and handed him Sandoval’s letter. The man took the letter and growled ill-naturedly:
“I don’t know why they come to me with matters of this kind. Damn it all!...”
“This is the youngster who is to learn the trade,” interrupted Roberto, coldly.
“Learn hell ...” and the cripple spat out ten or a dozen curses and a string of blasphemies.
“Are you in bad humor today?”
“I’m as I darn please.... This cursed daily grind.... It drives me to desperation.... Understand?”
“Indeed, I do,” replied Roberto, adding, in a stage “aside” such as is heard by the entire auditorium, “What patience one requires with this animal!”
“This is certainly a joke,” continued the cripple, unheedful of the “aside.” “Suppose the kid does want to learn the trade. What’s that got to do with me? And suppose he has nothing to eat? How does that concern me? Let him go to the deuce out of here ... and good riddance.”
“Are you going to teach him or not, Señor Sánchez? I’m a busy man and have no time to waste.”