“ ‘True, I agree with you,’ he said. ‘It is not for me to doubt it, for what can be said of that soldier who finds fault with the measures of his commander? But you know, Anselmo, the man I am, and it is bitter that these troubles should fall on one who has never offended except in being always poor.’
“The vulture,’ said I, ‘ever preys on the weak and ailing.’
“ ‘First I lose everything,’ he continued, ‘then this woman must fall ill of a calenture; and now I am forced to believe that even my credit is gone, since I cannot borrow the money I require. Those who knew me best have suddenly become strangers.’
“ ‘When a man is down,’ said I, ‘the very dogs will scratch up the dust against him.’
“ ‘True,’ said Manuel; ‘and since these calamities fell on me, what has become of the friendships that were so many? For nothing has a worse smell, or stinks more, than poverty, so that all men when they behold it cover up their faces or fly from such a pestilence.’
“ ‘You speak the truth, Manuel,’ I returned; ‘but say not all men, for who knows—there being so many souls in the world—whether you may not be doing injustice to someone.’
“ ‘I say it not of you,’ he replied, ‘On the contrary, if any person has had compassion on me it is you; and this I say, not in your presence only, but publicly proclaim it to all men.’
“Words only were these. ‘And now,’ he continued ‘my cards oblige me to part with my horses for money; therefore I come this evening to learn your decision.’
“ ‘Manuel,’ said I, ‘I am a man of few words, as you know, and straightforward, therefore you need not have used compliments, and before saying this to have said so many things; for in this you do not treat me as a friend.’
“ ‘You say well,’ he replied; ‘but I love not to dismount before checking my horse and taking my toes from the stirrups.’
“ ‘That is only as it should be,’ said I; ‘nevertheless, when you come to a friend’s house, you need not alight at such a distance from the gate.’
“ ‘For what you say, I thank you,’ he answered. ‘My faults are more numerous than the spots on the wild cat, but not amongst them is precipitancy.’
“ ‘That is what I like,’ said I; ‘for I do not love to go about like a drunk man embracing strangers. But our acquaintance is not of yesterday, for we have looked into and know each other, even to the bowels and to the marrow in the bones. Why, then, should we meet as strangers, since we have never had a difference, or any occasion to speak ill of each other?’
“ ‘And how should we speak ill,’ replied Manuel, ‘since it has never entered into either of us, even in a dream, to do the other an injury? Some there are, who, loving me badly, would blow up your head like a bladder with lies if they could, laying I know not what things to my charge, when—heaven knows—they themselves are perhaps the authors of all they so readily blame me for.’
“ ‘If you speak,’ said I, ‘of the cattle I have lost, trouble not yourself about such trifles; for if those who speak evil of you, only because they themselves are evil, were listening, they might say, This man begins to defend himself when no one has so much as thought of drawing against him.’
“ ‘True, there is nothing they will not say of me,’ said Manuel; ‘therefore I am dumb, for nothing is to be gained by speaking. They have already judged me, and no man wishes to be made a liar.’
“ ‘As for me,’ I said, ‘I never doubted you, knowing you to be a man, honest, sober, and diligent. If in anything you had given offence I should have told you of it, so great is my frankness towards all men.’
“ ‘All that you tell me I firmly believe,’ said he, ‘for I know that you are not one that wears a mask like others. Therefore, relying on your great openness in all things, I come to you about these horses; for I love not dealing with those who shake you out a whole bushel of chaff for every grain of corn.’
“ ‘But, Manuel,’ said I, ‘you know that I am not made of gold, and that the mines of Peru were not left to me for an inheritance. You ask a high price for your horses.’
“ ‘I do not deny it,’ he replied. ‘But you are not one to stop your ears against reason and poverty when they speak. My horses are my only wealth and happiness, and I have no glory but them.’
“ ‘Frankly, then,’ I answered, ‘tomorrow I will tell you yes or no.’
“ ‘Let it be as you say; but, friend, if you will close with me tonight I will abate something from the price.’
“ ‘If you wish to abate anything,’ said I, ‘let it be tomorrow, for I have accounts to make up tonight and a thousand things to think of.’
“After that Manuel got on to his horse and rode away. It was black and rainy, but he had never needed moon or lantern to find what he sought by night, whether his own house, or a fat cow—also his own, perhaps.
“Then I went to bed. The first question I asked myself, when I had blown out the candle, was, Are there fat wethers enough in my flock to pay for the cream-noses? Then I asked, How many fat wethers will it take at the price Don Sebastian—a miserly cheat be it said in passing—offers me a head for them to make up the amount I require?
“That was the question; but, you see, friends, I could not answer it. At length, about midnight, I resolved to light the candle and get an ear of maize; for by putting the grains into small heaps, each
