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Manuel could not declare the contrary, so he lay down upon the sofa and went to sleep.

The following day, when Manuel awoke, Roberto was already dressed with finicky care and was at his table, writing.

“Are you up so soon?” asked Manuel, in amazement.

“I’ve got to be up with the dawn,” answered Roberto. “I’m not the kind that waits for things to turn up. The mountain doesn’t come to me, so I go to the mountain. There’s no help for it.”

Manuel did not understand very clearly what Roberto meant with this talk about the mountain; he stretched his limbs and arose from the sofa.

“Get along,” said Roberto. “Go for a coffee and toast.”

Manuel went out and was back in a jiffy. They breakfasted together.

“Do you want anything more?” asked Manuel.

“No, nothing.”

“Don’t you intend to return before night?”

“No.”

“You have so many things to do?”

“Plenty, I assure you. At about this time, after having invariably translated ten pages, I go to the Calle Serrano to give a lesson in English; from there I take the tram and walk to the end of the Calle de Mendizábal, return to the heart of the town, go into the publishing office and correct the proofs of my translation. I leave at noon, go to my restaurant, eat, take coffee, write my letters to England and at three I’m in Fischer’s Academy. At half past four I go to the Protestant colegio. From six to eight I stroll around, at nine I have supper, at ten I’m in the newspaper office and at midnight in bed.”