Santín was meagre; his face was evenly formed, his nose thin, his eyes sad, his mustaches blond and his smile insipid. This man spent his life copying paintings in the Museo and making them progressively worse; but ever since he had begun to frequent Alex’s studio he had lost completely the little fondness he had for work.
One of his manias was to talk familiarly to everybody. The third or fourth time he met a person he was already addressing him with the intimate pronoun.
Of course, these gatherings in Alex’s studio were not enough for the bohemians, so that at night they would come together again in the Café de Lisboa. Manuel, without being considered one of them, was tolerated at their meetings, although he was given neither voice nor vote.
And just because he said nothing he paid all the more attention to what he heard.
They were almost all of evil instincts and malicious intent. They felt the necessity of speaking ill one of the other, of insulting one another, of damaging one another’s interests through schemes and treachery, yet at the same time they needed to see one another and exchange talk. They possessed, like woman, the need of complicating life with petty trifles, of living and developing in an atmosphere of gossip and intrigue.
Roberto mingled in their midst, calm and indifferent; he paid no attention to their plans or to their debates.
Manuel seemed to feel that it vexed Roberto to see him so deeply taken up with the bohemian life, and in order to enter into his friend’s good graces, one morning he accompanied Roberto as far as the house where he gave his English lesson. On the way he told him that he had made a number of unsuccessful efforts to find work, and asked what course to pursue further.
“What? I’ve already told you more than once what you have to do,” answered Roberto. “Look, look and keep on looking. Then work your very head off.”
“But suppose I can’t find a place.”
“There’s always a job if you really mean business. But you have to mean it. The first thing you’ve got to learn is to wish with all your might. You may answer that all you want is to vegetate in any old way; but you won’t succeed even in that if you keep hanging around with the loafers who come to this studio. You’ll sink from a mere idler to a shameless tramp.”