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After this paragraph, delivered with the greatest enthusiasm and oratorical fire, Mingote brushed his trousers with his cane and muttered, in his natural voice.

“You mark my word. That Señor Fernández won’t pay. And if only the anisette were good! Haven’t they sent some more bottles from the pharmacy?”

“Yes, yesterday they sent two.”

“And where are they?”

“I took them home.”

“Eh?”

“Yes. They promised them to me. And since you made off with the whole first consignment, I took the liberty of carrying these home with me.”

“Lord in heaven! Excellent! First rate!... Have folks send you some bottles of magnificent anisette so that some other fellow with long fingers may come along and.... Good God above!” And Mingote paused to stare at the ceiling with one of his cross eyes.

“Haven’t you any left?” asked his secretary.

“Yes, but they’ll run out at any moment.”

Then he began another eloquent paragraph, pacing up and down the room, brandishing his cane, and frequently interrupting his discourse to utter some violent apostrophe or humorous reflection.