"Papa! Papa!" she exclaimed in a comic tone of reproach.
And papa made excuses like a naughty, hypocritical little boy, increasing by his perturbation his daughter's desire to laugh.
López de Sosa seemed inclined to be indulgent toward his father-in-law. Poor old gentleman! All his life working, with a sick wife, who was very good and kind, to be sure, but who had embittered his life! She did well to die, and the artist did quite as well in making up for the time he had lost.
With the instinctive freemasonry of all those who lead an easy, merry life, the sport defended his father-in-law, supported him, found him more attractive, more congenial, as a result of his new habits. A man must not always stay shut up in his studio with the irritated air of a prophet, talking about things which nobody would understand.
They met each other in the evening during the last acts at the theaters and music halls, when the songs and dances were accompanied by the audience with a storm of cries and stamping. They greeted each other, the father inquired for Milita, they smiled with the sympathy of two good fellows and each went back to his group; the son-in-law to his club-mates in a box, still wearing the dress suits of the respectable gatherings from which they came—the painter to the orchestra seats with the long-haired young fellows who were his escort.
Renovales was gratified to see López de Sosa greeting the most fashionable, highest-priced cocottes and smiling to comic-opera stars with the familiarity of an old friend.
That boy had excellent connections, and he regarded this as an indirect honor to his position as a father.
Cotoner frequently found himself dragged out of his orbit of serious, substantial dinners and evening-parties, which he continued to frequent in order not to lose his friendships which were his only source of income.
"You are coming with me to-night," the master would say mysteriously. "We will dine wherever you like, and afterwards I will show you something."
And he took him to the theater where he sat restless and impatient until the chorus came on the stage. Then he would nudge Cotoner, who was sunk in his seat, with his eyes wide open, but asleep inside, in the sweet pleasure of good digestion.