"Maybe."
The gaunt fellow went from table to table, exhibiting a box and
announcing: "Here's a novelty. Here's somethin' new."
He was about to leave when Roberto called him.
"Do you live at Cuco's hostelry?" he asked.
"Yes, sir."
"Are you Don Alonso?"
"At your service."
"Well, we've been waiting for you. Take a seat; you'll have coffee
with us."
The man took a seat. His appearance was decidedly comical,--a blend of
humility, bragodoccio and sad arrogance. He gazed at the place that
Roberto had just abandoned, in which remained a scrap of roast meat.
"Pardon me," he said to Roberto. "You're not intending to finish that
scrap? No? Then.... with your permission--" and he took the plate, the
knife and the fork.
"I'll order another beefsteak for you," said Roberto.
"No, no. It's one of my whims. I imagine that this meat must be good.
Would you kindly let me have a slice of bread?" he added, turning to
Manuel. "Thanks, young man. Many thanks."
The man bolted the meat and bread in a trice.
"What? Is there a little wine left?" he asked, smiling.
"Yes," replied Manuel, emptying the bottle into the man's glass.
"All right," answered the man in ill-pronounced English as he gulped
it down. "Gentlemen! At your service. I believe you wished to ask me
something."
"Yes.
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