The Ely miner., 1901-06-07

arose to find no breakfast. He tore
about hotly. Trinidad came in, her
mouth dropping, salt tears on her
leathery cheek, grief in her slow and
solemn tread.
"What in the deuce is the matter
now?" roared he, falling back on his
English.
'Senor," she began, and sobbed and
leaned against the wall.
Just here her eldest daughter, Mar
celina, entered. It seemed to Jaggers
she was uncommonly beautiful. Her
black hair hung, washed, all down
her back. She was slender, plant,
willowy, always bending her body
like a snake. Her face was delicate.
Her big eyes were insinuating. She
could smile like a soubrette. She
gasped and gurgled now. and made
sinuous gestures of despair, continu-
ously, with her rubbery hands. They
exploded together, hanging on each
others necks, with floods of tears,
Trinidad wallowing her face in Marce-
lina's hair, and Theophilus, stupefied,
with his hands in his pockets, stand
ing there looking on, with his corded
visage expressing pain.
saw, come out! What is it?'
rasped he.
"Senor, pardon me this request" !"
sobbed Trinidad, with circumlocution,
while Marcelina broke away, gurgling,
''but Providence has willed that sor-
row fall upon u.s."
Jaggers suddenly began to hop up
and down, shaking his fist at her.
''Don't you say it! It's lie! Don't
you dare!" cried he, still in English.
81 beg but three days to weep and
pacify my soul, senor," raising ap-
pealing eyes to him; my grand
mother, alas! is dead"
Jaggers' Spanish had progressed
even farther than this. He under
stood. He pranced, lion-like. He
shook a fist at each weeper. He de-
nounced, threatened, raved. He be-
thought himself to use some Castil-
ian, and told Trinidad, fatty, she lied
and couldn't go. There were sweet
potatoes spread all over the brick
floor, drying in anticipation of that
lingering vat, and, in his fury, he
trod on many and mashed them.
"What!" sobbed Trinidad, "you will
not believe me! Oh, my poor, old
grandmother"
"Why, you haven't any grand
mother" fumed Jaggers, you're too
old"
81 had two" spoke she, meek and
pitiful
'Then go on!" he cried, sweeping
them away, with a wild gesture.
''I'll come and see, that's what I'll do.
AS soon as that man comes with my
vat, I'll go and see if your old grand
mothers dead. You can't trick me-"
Then, resuming his English: "That
blasted old fool, with my vat!"
They went out, like wailing spirits,
dresses trailing, eyes fluent.
Meanwhile, there had been frantic
preparation in the hut of Trinidad.
That tenfold salary was not to be
lightly thrown away. The women
had looked at one another aghast.
But there are still other things in
this world which a self-respecting
family will not be deprived of. Every
body knew Trinidad. Then, too, of
course, everybody understands what
fools the Americans are. Americans
are kind of crazy animals made out
of money.
Jaggers came charging along that
hilly, narrow street where the big
date-palm leans over the way and
Trinidad's hut stands. Just beside
the hut was coffin factory with the
Iugubrious words, "Cajas Mortuor-
ias," in letters ten feet high, hung
across the road. The coffin-maker,
his mouth judiciously hid behind his
hand, grinned, mild-eyed, as Jaggers
charged along. The American was
conscious of bright eyes peering out
of stone walls at him here and there.
He trotted hotly into his cooks
abode. ''Now, where's your grand
mother!" Illuminated he, glaring
around surlily, with his hat on.
The odor of multitude assailed
Theophilus as he went into the rear
room. He was a little meeker. This
room was dark, being devoid of win
dows, and only about nine feet
square. In it, crowded, huddled, some
standing, some sitting, some flung
right down on the floor in attitudes
of ruin and despair, were Trinidad,
her IL children, her two husbands,
some very old neighbor-women, and
the three inharmonious pigs. In the
center of this abandoned group, on a
rude table, was a coffin. The apart
ment's only light was that of four
tall candles at the coffin's corners.
Their flames, wavering, yellow, cast
weird radiance about upon the null
titude. That radiance illuminated
the strangely antique countenance
of the casket's occupant. A woman
seemingly 100 years of age lay there,
silent, drawn of feature, CLASSY of un-
closed eye. Her hair was snow-white.
Her face was of the Indian type
strong, bony, regal, like Trinidad's.
Jaggers gazed, gasped, turned and
fled.
"Senor!" walled voice behind him,
under the date-palm, 1--WE haven't any
money for the funeral at noon!"
He turned, wild-eyed, to see Marce-
lima stumbling along her rubberv