“You’ll see how God will punish your Uncle Felipe in His own way. You’ll see. Just wait; he’ll not get off scot-free.”
I protested against this singular supposition, and, as though a heavenly voice from above joined with me in proclaiming mercy and charity, just then the _Angelus_ sounded from the little church near by, with subdued melancholy and great poetic effect.
“Yes, indeed, and you ought to go also. It is scandalous that you should not go.”
“Don’t say anything to me, for I have no desire to be present at such a frightful scene. There never was, and never will be, such an absurd thing. Heaven grant that your uncle may not get an unfaithful wife! I wouldn’t wager a copper that he will not, though, marrying at his age! A nice thing it would be if I got married now!”
I battled against her invincible obstinacy asserting that my uncle was at a very good age to marry, and that we should appear ridiculous if we were to get angry at such a natural and proper procedure.
“That’s all bosh!” cried my mother, furiously. “A fine old mummy you are defending! I know what I say, and I also know what people tell me. God will square his accounts, though. Don’t imagine that I am crazy. Oh, no; but he’ll take a tumble, you’ll see! And the girl who marries him, I tell you, has no decency. I would not have your uncle if he were covered with gold, and if he were not my brother, I’d----”
My mother gave me for my supper a country dish, which she knew I was very fond of--corn-meal fritters with new milk. She would take out the fritters sizzling hot, and let them get cool, and form a crust; then she would make a hole in the middle, and pour in there the richest of milk out of an earthenware pitcher. While I was dispatching this delicacy of Homeric simplicity, she talked and questioned me incessantly, and would always come back to the starting-point--my uncle. “He is now mixed up here in an affair, and I don’t know how it will end. They are having a terrible row, and it seems to me that they’ll settle him this time. It is another scrape, but much worse than that one about the lots and houses, though that was bad enough. The trouble now is in regard to the contract for the provision market; they say that your uncle goes shares in the profits with the contractor, and that they have allowed him fearful opportunities for extortion; but that, nevertheless, the man has not fulfilled a single part of his contract, absolutely not one, so the municipal authorities are going to sue him. And they are not what they were last year, your uncle has no hold there. He’ll have to go on a pilgrimage to the boss----if Don Vicente does not help him out of this scrape it’ll be all up with him. But he’ll help him; one is as bad as the other. By the power of Don Vicente’s protection, they can do what they please in this province. As your uncle is to go to live in Madrid, they are going to hire his house in Pontevedra for the post-office--another fat thing for him! Nowadays, everybody has to be wide awake. A pretty state of things! I am not a man, but if I were, I’d go on a pilgrimage to the boss’s house, like everybody else. I am saying this to you confidentially; but be careful what you say anywhere in public. Don Vicente has a crowd of dependents and powerful friends, and it would not do for him to take a dislike to you, because he may be useful to you some day.”