Don Mateo looked at me with an air of triumph and derision.
“The Señor Director may order what seems best to him,” I said, restraining myself with difficulty, “but I ought to inform him that I withdraw from the staff, the moment when the paper publishes the least eulogy of this man.”
And without saluting, with clenched fists and gritted teeth, I left the room. While in the corridor I heard the voices of Cabezudo, Bueso, and Escorroza, who cried at once:
“Canasto! this puppet——”
“Talked to you, in that manner!”
“How can you permit——”
The noise of the loud voices reached the editorial room. Pepe and Carrasco asked me what had happened, but I simply shrugged my shoulders and the two became discreetly silent.
The noise continued for half an hour. At the end of that time the footsteps of the three men were heard in the patio, and their yet angry voices. As they passed the doorway I heard them saying:
“Astonishing how much Don Pablo thinks this boy to be!”
“Canasto! recanasto! this I will never forgive.”
Elevated pride, satisfied hatred, gratified and exalted vanity, almost choked me and I had to rise for breath. Pepe and Sabas looked at me astonished, and I, my face twitching and working with a nervous smile, threw my pen upon the table.
“This pen is worth more than most persons imagine.”