Ramón saw Carlota and his boys in the city, but it was a rather fruitless meeting. The elder boy was just uncomfortable in the presence with his father, but the younger, Cyprian, who was delicate and very intelligent, had a rather lofty air of displeasure with his parent.
“Do you know what they sing, papa?” he said.
“Not all the things they sing,” said Ramón.
“They sing—” the boy hesitated. Then, in his clear young voice, he piped up, to the tune of La Cucaracha:
“No, I’m not,” said Ramón, smiling. “Mine’s got a snake and a bird in the middle, and black zigzags and a red fringe. You’d better come and see it.”
“No, papa! I don’t want to.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t want to be mixed up in this affair. It makes us all look ridiculous.”
“But how do you think you look, anyhow, in your striped little