Off came Becodar's hat. He tapped the wall. "Where am I, senor?" he
asked.

Sherry told him. "Ah!" he said, "the church of Saint Joseph is near."
Then he crossed himself and seemed to hurry his steps. Presently he
stood still. We were beside the church. Against the door, in a niche,
was a figure of the Virgin in stone. He got to his knees and prayed
fast. And yet as he prayed I saw his hand go to his pocket, and it
fumbled and felt the money there.

"Begad, he's counting it all," said Sherry, "and now he's giving thanks
for the exact amount, adding his distinguished consideration that the sum
is by three reals greater than any day since Lent began. He promises to
bring some flowers to-morrow for the shrine, and he also swears to go a
pilgrimage to a church of Mary at Guadaloupe, and to be a kind compadre--
By Jove, there you are! He's a compadre--a blind compadre!"

A little while afterwards we were in Becodar's house--a low adobe but of
two rooms with a red light burning over the door, to guard against the
plague. It had a table hanging like a lid from the wall, a stone for
making tortillas, a mortar for grinding red peppers, a crucifix on the
wall, a short sword, a huge pistol, a pair of rusty stirrups, and several
chairs. The chairs seemed to be systematically placed, and it was quite
wonderful to see how the beggar twisted in and out among them without
stumbling. I could not understand this, unless it was that he wished to
practise moving about deftly, that he might be at least disadvantage in
the cafes and public resorts. He never once stirred them, and I was
presently surprised to see that they were all fastened to the floor.
Sherry seemed as astonished as I. From this strangeness I came to