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Don Servando related to the corpulent gentleman, who was none other than Don Bonifacio Mingote himself, the reasons for his visit.

In the meantime an ugly creature, filthy and sickly, with arms like a doll’s and the head of a Chinaman, stuck his pen behind his ear and began to rub his palms with an air of satisfaction.

The room was ill-smelling, cluttered with torn posters, large and small, which were pasted to the wall; in a corner stood a narrow bed, in disarray; there were three disembowelled chairs with the horse-hair stuffing exposed; in the middle, a brazier protected by a wire-netting, on which two dirty socks were drying.

“For the present I can promise nothing,” said the employment agent to Don Servando, after hearing his story. “Tomorrow I can tell better; but I have something good under way.”

“You understand what this gentleman is saying,” said Don Servando to Manuel. “Come here tomorrow.”

“Can you write?” Señor Mingote asked the boy.

“Yes, sir.”

“With correct spelling?”

“There may be some words that I don’t know....”