to be no likelihood of any thing being placed on the table, I said frankly,
"I am very hungry."
"So am I," he returned, gravely, without stirring.
I feared I had not been explicit enough.
"At what time do you ordinarily sup here? For my part, I can sup at any hour of the evening when I am as hungry as I am at present."
"Any hour is convenient enough for me; but to day I have had no supper."
This reply astonished me. Luckily, Cecilio had supplied himself with some yards of dried meat.[1] I was able then, our respective positions being reversed, to offer a frugal repast to the singular amphitryon with whom chance had brought me acquainted, and he needed no pressing to make him accept it.
"It appears to me," I said, after we had finished, "that there is a certain person called Remigio Vasquez in the world who is far from being a friend of yours; what ill has he done you?"
"None, till a little ago; and I fired at him (that is, at you) to-day purely from precaution, and to prevent him from ruining me."
Florencio Planillas, that was my host's name, then entered into long details about his own affairs. He was one of those obstinate miners who have all their lives struggled to grasp after merely visionary illusions, and who, like the unlucky gambler, fancy themselves constantly on the point of becoming possessors of millions without ever being able to learn those rude lessons of experience which their unhappy obstinacy prevents them from acquiring. His history was
- ↑ In some parts of Mexico butcher-meat is cut into strips, dried in the sun, and sold by measure, like ribbons or cloth.
