Vermont phÅ“nix. [volume] (Brattleboro, Vt.) 1834-1955, 1891-10-23
AN ESCAPADE IN CORDOBA.

AN ESCAPADE IN CORDOBA.
1t was plainly evident that he belonged
to the better class of Spaniards and not to
"the people, You could see that in his
finely chiseled features, and in the way his
clothes though slightly the worse for wear,
fitted his graceful, slender figure. You saw
it also in his winning mouth, full of white
teeth, shaded by dark mustache with just
curl enough to suggest the Don Juan
ready for fam slipper or blade. And yet
with all this there was certain air of sad
ness about him that enlisted your sympa-
thy at sight.
The swarthy landlady who peered
through the lattice blinds had never seen
him before and expressed, rather pointed
", | thought, the hope that she never
would again. The pcador who during the
bull fights occupied a room on the floor
above mine charged down upon him very
much as he would on a wounded bull, and
returned to me, waiting behind the half
open door, with shrug of his broad
shoulders, a lifting of his eyebrows, and
the single word, "Nada!' C'GOOd-for-noth-
ing'O.
Still the silent young man continued to
occupy my sidewalk, to bow with his hat
to the ground, and to follow me with his
eyes around the corner of the narrow
street that led to the Moorish mosque
Then a break occurred in the daily pro-
gram. | had forgotten my brush case, and
ran back into the house, leaving my white
umbrella and trap on the doorstep. When
/ emerged again into the binding sunlight.
they had disappeared. | instinctively
sought out my silent young man. He was
standing in his customary place, hat Off
my trap in one hand, the umbrella under
his arm.
MY friend, you have my trap"
eyes, seflor.n
''Why?"
at is too heavy for the painter Let
me carry it"
His voice was so gentle, his face so hon
est, his manner so courteous, his desire to
serve me so apparent, that l surrendered
the brush case at once; had it been filled
with doubloons / would have done the
same
what is your name?"
Manuel
''Why are you always here?'
''TO wait upon you"
"For what?'
''To keep from starving"
''Have you had no breakfast
mo; nor supper"
Below the mosque there runs a crooked
street lined with balconies hooded with
awnings shading tropical plants, and now
and then a pretty senorita. At the end of
this street is an arcade thanking the old
bull ring. Through one of its arches you
enter the best cafe in Cordova.
To see a hungry man eat has always
.been to me one of the most delightful of
all the eXpositions of the laws of want and
supply, to assist in equalizing these laws
most exquisite of pleasures. | exhausted
my resources on Manuel.
He had a cup of coffee as big as a soup
bowl. He had an omelet crammed full OF
garlic. He had pile of waflies smothered
in sugar He had chicken livers broiled in
peppers and little round radshes, and, last
of all, tiagon of San Vicente. All these
he ate and drank with the air and man
ners of a gentleman, smoking a cigarette
through the entire repast, as is the custom
and talking to me of his life-his people al
home, his year at the military school at To
ledo, of the unfortunate scrape which end
ed in his dismissal, of the anger of his ia
ther, of the beauty and devotion of the
girl who caused it all, and of his comm.
to Cordoya to be near her. Who does no
recollect his own shortcomings i'm the hot
all; hardly twenty, straight as an arrow
1.-the as whip, eyes like Goals of fire
cheeks like rose, and his veins packed
full of blood at fever heat.
He had watched me painting in the pla
"a the week before and had followed me t
my lodgings, hoping / would employ hin
to carry my trap, but had been too prou,
or too timid to ask for it until chanc
threw it in his way. He would be glad I
carry it now all day to pay for his break
fast.
Manuel was a prize. He would suppl
the only thing l lacked in this most charm
ing of Spanish cities-a boon companio
with nothing to do. l made a bargai
with him on the spot-so many pesetas pc
week, with three meals a day, he to occl
Ply the other side of the table.
1t was delightful to see him when tn
terms were concluded. His face lighte
up and his big brown eyes danced. No,
he could hold his head up. His father pei
haps was right, but what could he do
Florita was so lovely Some day shoul
see her; but not now; / would not undel
stand. His father by and by would releI
and send for him. Then he would tax
my hand and place it in his fathers an
say, "Here is the good painter who save
my life and Florita's."
We ransacked Cordova from end to enc
into the mosque at twilight, sitting in I'll
shadows of the forest of marble column
stretching away on every side; up into I'll
tower where the pigeons roost; across I'll
old Roman bridge; along the dusty higl
ways on the outskirts of the old cit,
crowded with market people; through Il
streets at night, listening to the tinkling
guitars and watching the mufiled figur
under the balconies and the half-opent
lattices with the little hands waving han,
kerchiefs or dropping roses; eTerywhe
and anywhere; in every nook and craC
and Granny of this once famous home
the hidalgO, the cavalier and the manor
ia with the eyes of a gazelle and the hea
of fire.
One subject, however, by common silel
consent was tabOoed-the whereabouts
the sweetheart who had made him an e