“Not at all. He’s a philosopher of Candide’s school. Be a cuckold and cultivate your garden. There lies true happiness.”
“And what are you going to do now?” asked Alex sarcastically of Manuel.
“I don’t know. I’ll look for employment.”
“See here, do you fellows know a man by the name of Señor Don Bonifacio Mingote, who lives on the third floor of this house?” asked Don Servando Arzubiaga, the thin, indifferent gentleman.
“No.”
“He’s an employment agent. He can’t have very good jobs on his list, or he’d have got himself one. I know him through the newspaper; he was formerly the representative for certain mineral waters and used to bring advertisements. He was telling me the other day that he needed a young fellow.”
“Better go see him,” advised Alex.
“You don’t aspire to be a grandee of Spain, do you?” asked Don Servando of Manuel, with a smile blended of irony and kindliness.
“No, nor you, either,” retorted Manuel, ill-humouredly.
Don Servando burst into laughter.