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The Passing Of Enriquez
by
It was impossible to resist his wild, yet perfectly sincere, extravagance, his dancing black eyes and occasional flash of white teeth in his otherwise immovable and serious countenance. Nevertheless, I managed to say:–
“But how about yourself, Enriquez, and this geology, you know?”
His eyes twinkled. “Ah, you shall hear. But first you shall take a drink. I have the very old Bourbon. He is not so old as the Aztec, but, believe me, he is very much liflier. Attend! Hol’ on!” He was already rummaging on a shelf, but apparently without success; then he explored a buffet, with no better results, and finally attacked a large drawer, throwing out on the floor, with his old impetuosity, a number of geological specimens, carefully labeled. I picked up one that had rolled near me. It was labeled “Conglomerate sandstone.” I picked up another: it had the same label.
“Then you are really collecting?” I said, with astonishment.
“Ciertamente,” responded Enriquez,–“what other fool shall I look? I shall relate of this geology when I shall have found this beast of a bottle. Ah, here he have hide!” He extracted from a drawer a bottle nearly full of spirits,–tippling was not one of Enriquez’s vices. “You shall say ‘when.’ ‘Ere’s to our noble selfs!”
When he had drunk, I picked up another fragment of his collection. It had the same label. “You are very rich in ‘conglomerate sandstone,'” I said. “Where do you find it?”
“In the street,” said Enriquez, with great calmness.
“In the street?” I echoed.
“Yes, my friend! He ees call the ‘cobblestone,’ also the ‘pouding-stone,’ when he ees at his home in the country. He ees also a small ‘boulder.’ I pick him up; I crack him; he made three separate piece of conglomerate sandstone. I bring him home to my wife in my pocket. She rejoice; we are happy. When comes the efening, I sit down and make him a label; while my wife, she sit down and write of the Aztec. Ah, my friend, you shall say of the geology it ees a fine, a BEAUTIFUL study; but the study of the wife, and what shall please her, believe me, ees much finer! Believe your old Uncle ‘Ennery every time! On thees question he gets there; he gets left, nevarre!”
“But Professor Dobbs, your geologian, what does HE say to this frequent recurrence of the conglomerate sandstone period in your study?” I asked quickly.
“He say nothing. You comprehend? He ees a profound geologian, but he also has the admiration excessif for my wife Urania.” He stopped to kiss his hand again toward the door, and lighted a cigarette. “The geologian would not that he should break up the happy efening of his friends by thees small detail. He put aside his head–so; he say, ‘A leetle freestone, a leetle granite, now and then, for variety; they are building in Montgomery Street.’ I take the hint, like a wink to the horse that has gone blind. I attach to myself part of the edifice that is erecting himself in Montgomery Street. I crack him; I bring him home. I sit again at the feet of my beautiful Urania, and I label him ‘Freestone,’ ‘Granite;’ but I do not say ‘from Parrott’s Bank’–eet is not necessary for our happiness.”
“And you do this sort of thing only because you think it pleases your wife?” I asked bluntly.
“My friend,” rejoined Enriquez, perching himself on the back of the sofa, and caressing his knees as he puffed his cigarette meditatively, “you have ask a conundrum. Gif to me an easier one! It is of truth that I make much of these thing to please Urania. But I shall confess all. Behold, I appear to you, my leetle brother, in my camisa–my shirt! I blow on myself; I gif myself away.”
He rose gravely from the sofa, and drew a small box from one of the drawers of the wardrobe. Opening it, he discovered several specimens of gold-bearing quartz, and one or two scales of gold. “Thees,” he said, “friend Pancho, is my own geology; for thees I am what you see. But I say nothing to Urania; for she have much disgust of mere gold,–of what she calls ‘vulgar mining,’–and believe me, a fear of the effect of ‘speculation’ upon my temperamento–you comprehend my complexion, my brother? Reflect upon it, Pancho! I, who am the filosofo, if that I am anything!” He looked at me with great levity of eye and supernatural gravity of demeanor. “But eet ees the jealous affection of the wife, my friend, for which I make play to her with the humble leetle pouding-stone rather than the gold quartz that affrights.”