The Social Cancer, by José Rizal - Home

CHAPTER XXXIV 163
"Rather?" exclaimed the alferez. "He must be exhausted, and as they say here, all fagged out. What a sermon
it was!"
"A splendid sermon--wonderful!" said the escribano.
"Magnificent--profound!" added the correspondent.
"To be able to talk so much, it's necessary to have the lungs that he has," observed Padre Manuel Martin. The
Augustinian did not concede him anything more than lungs.
"And his fertility of expression!" added Padre Salvi.
"Do you know that Señor Ibarra has the best cook in the province?" remarked the alcalde, to cut short such
talk.
"You may well say that, but his beautiful neighbor doesn't wish to honor the table, for she is scarcely eating a
bite," observed one of the employees.
Maria Clara blushed. "I thank the gentleman, he troubles himself too much on my account," she stammered
timidly, "but--"
"But you honor it enough merely by being present," concluded the gallant alcalde as he turned to Padre Salvi.
"Padre," he said in a loud voice, "I've observed that during the whole day your Reverence has been silent and
thoughtful."
"The alcalde is a great observer," remarked Fray Sibyla in a meaning tone.
"It's a habit of mine," stammered the Franciscan. "It pleases me more to listen than to talk."
"Your Reverence always takes care to win and not to lose," said the alferez in a jesting tone.
Padre Salvi, however, did not take this as a joke, for his gaze brightened a moment as he replied, "The alferez
knows very well these days that I'm not the one who is winning or losing most."
The alferez turned the hit aside with a forced laugh, pretending not to take it to himself.
"But, gentlemen, I don't understand how it is possible to talk of winnings and losses," interposed the alcalde.
"What will these amiable and discreet young ladies who honor us with their company think of us? For me the
young women are like the Æolian harps in the middle of the night--it is necessary to listen with close attention
in order that their ineffable harmonies may elevate the soul to the celestial spheres of the infinite and the
ideal!"
"Your Honor is becoming poetical!" exclaimed the escribano gleefully, and both emptied their wine-glasses.
"I can't help it," said the alcalde as he wiped his lips. "Opportunity, while it doesn't always make the thief,
makes the poet. In my youth I composed verses which were really not bad."
"So your Excellency has been unfaithful to the Muses to follow Themis," emphatically declared our mythical
or mythological correspondent.
"Pshaw, what would you have? To run through the entire social scale was always my dream. Yesterday I was