In addition to Senor Ignacio's sign there was, in one of the balconies
of the large house, the bust of a woman, made probably of pasteboard,
with lettering beneath: _Perfecta Ruiz: Ladies' Hair Dressing;_
on the side walls of the main entrance there hung several
announcements unworthy of occupying the attention of the
aforementioned historian, in which were offered low-priced rooms with
or without bed, amanuenses and seamstresses. A single card, upon which
were pasted horizontally, vertically and obliquely a number of cut-out
figures, deserved to go down in history for its laconicism. It read:
_Parisian Styles. Escorihuela, Tailor._
Manuel, who had not taken the trouble to read all these signs, went
into the building by a little door at the side of the livery-stable
entrance, and walked through the corridor to a very filthy courtyard.
When he returned to the street the cobbler's shop had already been
opened. Petra and her boy entered.
"Isn't Senor Ignacio in?" she asked.
"He'll be here in a second," answered a youngster who was piling up
old shoes in the middle of the shop.
"Tell him that his cousin is here,--Petra."
Senor Ignacio appeared. He was a man of between forty and fifty, thin
and wizened. Petra and he got into conversation, while the boy and a
little urchin continued to heap up the old shoes.
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