The Romantic Adventures of an Enthusiastic Young Pessimist By ROWLAND THOMAS Chapter XVIII (Continued) ried no rebuke, "I could not rent that house any more than I could sell it." "Believe me," I assured him, "I do not so lack understanding as not to realize that under ordinary conditions that must be the case. But I am sure that you will not fail in consideration for my own self-respect. Look for a moment at my position here. Since the hour I landed in Felicidad I have been the recipient of your bounty. You have fed and lodged me; you have looked out for my boatmen-" "But how," Don Feliciano asked, smiling again, "is the fact that you have been my guest for a few days connected with what you call your self-respect?" "There are natural limits to guesthood," said I. "A perpetual guest is no better than a disguised parasite. One's self-respect requires that one should make some return for even kindnesses, if one is able." "And have you not made me a return?" "How ?" "By the pleasure you have given me," he said simply. "My dear Don Djon, you feel that your self-respect forbids your receiving kindness at others' hands without making some return. I believe the feeling is natural. But when you imagine that such a feeling on your part requires me to receive money which I do not need and do not want His smile was so contagious that I had to smile, too, dissatisfied as I was. "But I do not need or want it, either," I objected. "Then," said he, triumphantly, "the problem is solved. We can both forget all about it." He was so pleased with this discovery that I could not press the matter further along that line. "Suppose," I suggested, "that we agree on what the rent should be. I will send the sum to Father Isidro for his poor, if he will take it of a heretic and worse. That will, indeed, solve the problem for both of us." Don Feliciano's eyes held their mischievous twinkle, as he looked. at me. "I'm afraid it won't," he said. "Why?" I asked in disappoint "Perhaps he hardly expected," I said rather dryly, "to find himself given the curacy of Utopia." "It is almost Utopia, I think sometimes," said Don Feliciano. Suddenly his smile was very grave. "It is a wonderful world we live in," he said. "All my life I have been learning more and more what a wonderful world it is we live in. Every year the rains come in their season. We plant the cane and corn and tobacco and rice, and they grow. They grow," he repeated softly. "That is the most wonderful thing of all, of course. We plant them, and tend them a little, but they grow. They have life in them. And the cocoas and bananas and oranges grow without even our little tending, and a thousand things in the forest. The sea is full of fish, and the shores of shell-fish, and they are all ours to take, and there is enough for every one. Shelter and food and clothing are waiting to be taken. It is the most wonderful thing I ever heard of. There might so easily be no world at all and no us. But instead of that, we have all this." Don Feliciano seemed quite set up about it all. "And yet," I said, "there are places in this wonderful world where men's utmost exertion will not bring them the bare necessities for living." "I "I know," he agreed sadly. "I have talked with people, and I have read a little. Father Isidro has some books. It is very puzzling. I am sorry for such people. I wish they could all live in a place like this. Here, even the Padre cannot find the poor he desires to feed and clothe. Of course," he admitted, "there is suffering here, sometimes. Sickness and other things. But Dona Ceferina helps our people, and Rafael looks after his, and Besa his, and all the rest. It is quite simple. There is enough for all. It only has to be distributed." "It seems to be simple," I agreed. "Still I should feel better if I could devise some way to pay my rent." "There is a way," Don Feliciano said encouragingly. "Since you are so insistent, I will tell you about it. You shall-” You But just then Dona Ceferina came into the room in her bustling way. She stopped when she saw me. "My dear Don Djon," she cried, "I shall get at the house to-morrow. have no notion how busy I am. All the girls are weaving, but I must. stop a minute. To think you are setting up a house of your own! It is splendid. Splendid! Now you Now you need just one thing more to be completely settled, and that is-" "I can guess," said I. "Of course you can," said she. "What you need now is a wife. A man in a house, and without a wife, is bad as a salad without any vinegar. It is not salad, that's all. No es verdad, Escalante?" Don Feliciano nodded, with twinkling eyes. "Have I never told you," I asked. Dona Ceferina, "that I have already thought of marrying?" "No!" cried Dona Ceferina. "But then, I might have known it. I am not surprised. And one could see that you are a very intelligent young man.' "But unfortunately for your enthusiasm," I said cruelly, "the more I thought, the less inclined I was for it." "I think," said Dona Ceferina acutely, "that you are joking with me now. Never mind. When you are ready, come to me and I will—” "Marry me yourself?" I asked. "Now if we could only manage to get Don Feliciano out of the way—” "I will do better than that for you," she said. "I will find you the prettiest young wife you ever saw." "But I don't believe-" I began diffidently. "Nonsense!" she cried, finishing my sentence in a not very flattering way, "you are not so very old. If you wanted them, I could get you twenty." Suddenly her ponderousness returned. "One ought not to joke about such things, even in fun," she said. "Now I must see what those girls of mine are doing. They are so careless." "Dont Ceferina," said her husband thoughtfully, looking at the door where she had vanished,-if so solid a body as Dona Ceferina's could ever properly be said to vanish,"Dona Ceferina is the most capable woman in the world. If you will give her only half a chance, she will have you married in no time, prudently and comfortably." "I believe you," said I, "and I will be on my guard. But we were speaking of my rent. Tell me how I am to pay it, since money is not even a token of value in Felicidad." At that all the quiet fun died out of Don Feliciano's eyes and left them very grave and kindly searching. "You have guessed," he asked, "what a very happy life was lived in that old house that now is yours?" I told him softly that I had. "Then try," said he with sudden energy, "to live such a life there yourself. Try to let yourself see how very beautiful and wonderful the world is, as She saw it and taught me to see it, sometimes. Try to realize how pleasant living is. Promise me," he said, "to live there happily, and your rent is paid." At that he smiled again, a very little. own fault when they are unhappy." "Their fault?" I asked. "Fault," said he. "They shut their eyes when they might keep them open. They think of evil when they might see good." "Don Feliciano," I accused him, "I begin to suspect that I am talking with a philosopher." "No, indeed," he said hastily. "But I am almost eighty years old. That is altogether too long a time. to live, unless it teaches one something of happiness." "Eighty years," said I. "It's time, I see, that I began my studies. And so I think I will give you the promise you ask for. You say that all I must do is live, being happy myself and making others happy, too?" "Six weeks ago," said I, more seriously than I often spoke even to him, "I should have laughed at thought of such an idle promise. To promise to be happy! But Felicidad perhaps has taught me something. It doesn't seem an impossi-ingly. bly idle thing to say, I will." "Happiness ought to be possible everywhere," said my companion. "It's such a very simple thing. And the only natural thing. Can you imagine a permanently unhappy bird? Or any other of God's creatures, unless men have interfered with them?" "Ah, but men-" "Yes," said he. "Men are always interfering. They are God's creatures, too, but they are always interfering, even with themselves. That's why it always seems to me their "I said nothing about any others," Don Feliciano corrected me smil "If you are thoroughly happy selves to you." yourself, others will adjust them "But it seems so selfish," I objected, "just to live without a care or duty save my own contentment. I wish you'd give me permission to think a little of others, too." "You may if you like," said Don Feliciano, laughing with me. "And their happiness will be credited to my rent, I hope?" "What a boy you are, after all," cried Don Feliciano. "Run along now and find some other boys to play with." Dona Ceferina dropped into a chair beside the table which was now mine. "There," she said, fanning herself vigorously, "that's done at last. And I'm glad of it." There was deep satisfaction in her tone; and in the look she cast about the swept and garnished sala of the House of Forgetfulness. And there was satisfaction in the air with which she listened to the bustle of unseen girls engaged in putting the finishing touches on other rooms, holding herself in readiness to steam down on them if they gave sign of dawdling over their work. "Yes," she said, "I'm glad it's done. I've told Escalante times enough that the house ought to be opened again. Now he thinks he's seen it himself. He's obstinate-but I find I can manage him by letting him think he's having his own way. Of course, I don't object," she ran on, in her matter of fact way, "I don't object to a man's honoring the memory of a dead wife. I should want it done in my own case. But I can't see the sense of letting a house go to rack and ruin just because somebody died in it. Suppose everybody did it? man appeared, his trousers rolled up tighter than ever about his sturdy legs. "Pedro," I bade him, "muster my retainers in the great hall." "Yes, Master," Pedro said obediently. "I will. What is it?" "Call the other men in here. They're about, aren't they?" "Oh, yes," he said, "they're all about, all right. They are helping those muchachas sweep." "And you have been helping them, too?" "Of course," he said. "I go to call them." When the five boatmen were standing in an unsteady line before me, I turned to Dona Ceferina. "Behold," I said, "my servants." "Nonsense," said Dona Ceferina. "Those men are not servants. They are sailors." "They will be servants in a moment, though," I assured her. "Listen and you shall learn how easily a man solves domestic problems. And also how infinite are the possibilities of sailors. I am one myself, you know. Pedro, we are no longer sailYou are no longer my helmsman. Henceforth you are my muchacho, my body-servant, and my majordomo. In your hands-take them out of your pockets-I place the administration of my house." ors. Where would people live? And now," she said, dropping speculation, "we must see about getting some servants. You will want a good many." I could not help smiling at her friendly domineering. "I have servants already," I told her. "Pedro!" I called. "Pedro!" and with suspicious quickness my helms "I will administer it," said Pedro nonchalantly. "Juan," said I, "henceforth you are my cook." "Yes, Master," said Juan, "I am the cook." "Tobal," said I, "you are my porter, the keeper of my gate. Keep it." "I will keep it, Master," said Tobal. "Canuto," said I, "you are my bottlewasher." "Master," said Canuto, "I am now a washer of bottles." "And you, Jose," said I, a little at a loss, "are henceforth my-my supernumerary." "Master," said Jose, his voice shaky with pride, "I am your supersupermunerator." "There," said I to Dona Ceferina, "you see how quickly and easily things are done when sailors are concerned. I used to be one myself, you know." "It was quick enough," Dona Ceferina agreed half-heartedly. "But can they do the work? Can that man cook?" "Juan," I asked, "can you cook?" "No," Juan answered frankly. Dona Ceferina's eyes lighted with triumph. But I was not done. "Can you cook, Tobal?" "Sometimes," said Tobal. "Then you and Juan may change places. You see me now, Dona Ceferina," I declared triumphantly, "with a full corps of servants. And there was no deception about it. I made them in five minutes out of sailors. Sailors are the cleverest and handiest people in the world. I am proud to have been one." "Perhaps," said Dona Ceferina guardedly. "Anyway," "Anyway," she said, "When you get into trouble, I can come and straighten things out." Her eyes darkened again with suspicion. "Can that man really super-super-whatever you call it?" "Of course he can," said I kindly, for poor Jose was turning green through fear that his title was endangered. "He's done nothing else all his life, at sea or ashore. Have you, Jose?" "Senora," Jose lied heroically, "it is as my master says. All my life I have been a supermunernumerator." "I don't believe it," said Dona Ceferina decidedly. "The man has a shifty eye, and you'd better watch him, Don Djon.' "But, anyway," she added, reverting to her former theme, "I'm glad the house is open and clean, even if no one's to live in it but men. And I will come in often enough to see that these sailors do their work." Thus simply began my life as a householder in Happiness. Thus simple I wish it might have continued to be. But Don Feliciano had prophesied rightly. My establishment expanded rapidly in size and complexity. And the cause of that expansion was my erstwhile helmsman, now my valet and my majordomo. That simple sailor Pedro had rolled his trousers down, a change in outward habit which betokened an even more startling change within. In Pedro there developed an ambition to make me live up to my house, and this ideal took such hold on him that he was invested with an unnatural power over all other men, including me. I saw that when it was too late to mend. At the time I merely realized that something new in Pedro's bearing made me yielding to the point of weakness. "Master," he said one morning, as he stood behind my chair, "Master, you are not eating very much." His tone held such authority that I should not have dreamed of contradicting him. "No," I confessed, "I am not. The fact is, I don't seem to want much." "That Tobal," Pedro informed me loftily, "is a liar. He cannot cook." "He only said that he could cook sometimes." I defended myself and |