My brother remained in Madrid for some time, when he grew tired and
left; then I went, and later we were both there together, making an
effort to improve the business and to push it ahead. Times were bad:
there was no way of pushing ahead. Surely the proverb "Where flour is
lacking, everything goes packing," could never have been applied with
more truth. And we could get no flour.

When the bakery was just about to do better, the Conde de Romanones, who
was our landlord in those days, notified us that the building was to be
torn down.

Then our troubles began. We were obliged to move elsewhere, and to
undertake alterations, for which money was indispensable, but we had no
money. In that predicament, we began to speculate upon the Exchange, and
the Exchange proved a kind mother to us; it sustained us until we were
on our feet again. As soon as we had established ourselves upon another
site, we proceeded to lose money, so we withdrew.

It is not surprising, therefore, that I have always regarded the Stock
Exchange as a philanthropic institution, or that, on the other hand, a
church has always seemed a sombre place in which a black priest leaps
forth from behind a confessional to seize one by the throat in the dark,
and to throttle him.




MY FATHER'S DISILLUSIONMENT