“Well, since you do not care to stay, feel that I am interested in your welfare. I should like to see you at my house, tomorrow.”
“I will be there, madam,” Anton answered respectfully. And slipping, timidly, through the crowd of guests, directing a furtive glance at Rosalba, he went to his work at the humble desk in Ajágan’s shop.
But he could not keep track of the figures; sums and differences came out badly; everything was topsy-turvy; seven times six was forty-eight and five would not contain three. His head was in a whirl. That night he could not sleep.
In the morning, he performed his usual duties and at midday, his heart high with vague, happy hopes, he went to his appointment with Doña Socorro.
He was expected. The lady received him with expressive signs of affection, and seating him, said:
“I have invited you here for your own good. You are poor; I wish to aid you. Do not be ashamed; speak to me frankly. What are your resources for living? Go into full particulars.”
Antón lowered his eyes and turned his hat around and around in his hands, until the lady again encouraged him:
“Go on; don’t be brief. Speak! boy.”
“Well then, lady,” answered the young man, hesitatingly, “I can’t say that it is so bad; I earn my twenty-five pesos a month.”
“And from whom?”
“From what persons, you mean”—continued Antón, with somewhat greater frankness,—“why then, Don Ascencio Ajágan gives me ten pesos