The bookkeeper, a jaundiced fellow with an emaciated face and a beard
like that of a monumental Jew, exceedingly taciturn and timid, had
burst into speech in his excitement over the intrigues invented and
fancied in the life of Don Telmo; now he became from moment to moment
sallower than ever with his hypochondria.
Don Telmo's departure was paid for by the student and Don Manuel. As
far as the student was concerned they dared no more than twit him on
his complicity with the old man and the Biscayan; at Manuel, however,
they all kept screeching and scolding when they weren't kicking him.
One of the salesmen,--the fellow who was troubled with his stomach,
exasperated by the boredom, the heat and his uncertain digestion,
found no other distraction than insulting and berating Manuel while he
served at table, whether or not there were cause.
"Go on, you cheap fool!" he would say. "You're not worth the food you
eat! Clown!"
This refrain, added to others of the same tenor, began to weary
Manuel. One day the salesman heaped the insults and the vilification
upon him more plentifully than ever. They had sent the boy out for two
coffees, and he was slow in returning; on that particular day the
delay was not due to any fault of his, for he had been kept waiting a
long time.
"They ought to put a pack-saddle on you, you ass!" shouted the agent
as Manuel entered.
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