Nothing compares for vexation with the life of the petty tradesman,
especially when that tradesman is a baker. Upon occasion, I have
repeated to my friends the series of outrages to which we were obliged
to submit, in particular at the hands of the municipal authorities.

Sometimes it was through malice, but more often through sheer insentient
imbecility.

When my brother and I moved to the new site, we drew up a plan and
submitted it to the _Ayuntamiento_, or City Government. A clerk
discovered that no provision had been made for a stall for a mule to run
the kneading machine, and so rejected it. When we learned that our
application had not been granted, we inquired the reason and explained
to the clerk that no provision had been made for the mule because we had
no mule, as our kneading machine was operated by an electric motor.

"That makes no difference, no difference whatever," replied the clerk
with the importance and obtuseness of the bureaucrat. "The ordinance
requires that there be a stall for one."

Another of the thousand instances of official barbarity was perpetrated
at our expense while Sanchez de Toca was Alcalde. This gentleman is a
Siamese twin of Maura's when it comes to garrulousness and muddy
thinking, and he had resolved to do away with the distribution of bread
by public delivery, and to license only deliveries by private bakeries.
The order was arbitrary enough, but the manner in which it was put into
effect was a masterpiece. It was reported that plates bearing license
numbers would be given out at the _Ayuntamiento_ to the delivery
men from the bakeries. So we repaired to the _Ayuntamiento_ and