El Nacional's good-heartedness, and his simple soul, quick to feel indignation, rose up against those rusty irons and those green crosses.
"Good heavens!... And there are people who say.... By the life of the dove!... I wish I had some of them here."
The desire of proselytism made him air his convictions on every occasion, regardless of his companion's jests, but even in this he showed himself kind-hearted, as he was never personally bitter. According to him, those who remained indifferent to the fate of the country and did not figure on the party register, were "poor victims of the national ignorance." The salvation of the people depended on their learning to read and write. For his own part he was obliged modestly to renounce this regeneration, as he felt himself too thick skulled; but he made the whole world responsible for his ignorance.
Very often in summer, when the cuadrilla was travelling from one province to another, and Gallardo changed into the second-class carriage where "his lads" were travelling, the door would open and some country priest or a couple of friars would enter.
The banderilleros would nudge each others' elbows and wink as they looked at El Nacional, become even more grave and solemn than usual in presence of the enemy. The picadors, Potaje and Tragabuches, rough and aggressive fellows, fond of quarrels and practical jokes, who besides had an instinctive dislike to the cassocks, egged him on in a low voice.
"Now you have got him!... Go in at him straight!... Give him one in the eye in your own fashion."...
But the maestro, with his authority as chief of the cuadrilla, which no one dare to contest or discuss, rolled his eyes fiercely as he looked at El Nacional, who was obliged to observe a silent obedience. But the zeal of proselytism was stronger in this simple soul than his subordination, and one insignificant word was sufficient to start him on a discussion with his fellow travellers, trying to convince them of the truth. But indeed the truth, according to him, seemed an inextricable and tangled skein of ranting that he had gathered from Don Joselito.
His companions looked on with astonishment, delighted that one of their own set could make head against educated men, and even put them in a corner, which by the way might not be very difficult, as the Spanish clergy, as a rule, are not highly educated.
The priests, bewildered by El Nacional's fiery arguments and the laughter of the other toreros, ended by appealing to their final argument. How could men who exposed their lives so frequently not think of God, and believe such things! Did they not think that at that very time their wives and their mothers were most probably praying for them?