In addressing Gallardo they called him thou, with gracious familiarity, while he put don before their names with the traditional class distinction that still exists between the bull-fighter risen from the social subsoil and his admirers. These men linked their enthusiasm with memories of the past to make the young matador feel their superiority of years and experience. They talked of the old plaza of Madrid where only bulls that were bulls and bull-fighters that were bull-fighters were recognized. Coming down to the present, they trembled with emotion on mentioning the Negro, Frascuelo.
"If thou hadst seen him! But thou and those of thy time were at the breast then, or were not even born."
Other enthusiasts began entering the dining-room, poorly clad and hungry-looking; obscure newspaper reporters; and men of problematical profession who appeared as soon as the news of Gallardo's arrival was circulated, besieging him with praises and petitions for tickets. Common enthusiasm jostled them against great merchants or public functionaries, who discussed bull-fighting affairs with them warmly, regardless of their beggarly aspect.
All, on seeing the swordsman, embraced him or shook his hand with an accompaniment of questions and exclamations.
"Juanillo—how goes it with Carmen?"
"Well, thanks."
"And how is your mother, Señora Angustias?"
"Fine, thanks. She's at La Rincona'."
"And your sister and your little nephews?"
"As usual, thanks."