(Enter VICTORIAN and HYPOLITO playing.)
Padre C. And pray, whom have we here?
Pedro C. More vagrants! By Saint Lazarus, more vagrants!
Hyp. Good evening, gentlemen! Is this Guadarrama?
Padre C. Yes, Guadarrama, and good evening to you.
Hyp. We seek the Padre Cura of the village;
And, judging from your dress and reverend mien,
You must be he.
Padre C. I am. Pray, what's your pleasure?
Hyp. We are poor students, traveling in vacation.
You know this mark?
(Touching the wooden spoon in his hat-band.
Padre C. (joyfully). Ay, know it, and have worn it.
Pedro C. (aside). Soup-eaters! by the mass! The worst of vagrants!
And there's no law against them. Sir, your servant.
[Exit.
Padre C. Your servant, Pedro Crespo.
Hyp. Padre Cura,
Front the first moment I beheld your face,
I said within myself, "This is the man!"
There is a certain something in your looks,
A certain scholar-like and studious something,--
You understand,--which cannot be mistaken;
Which marks you as a very learned man,
In fine, as one of us.
Vict. (aside). What impudence!
Hyp. As we approached, I said to my companion,
"That is the Padre Cura; mark my words!"
Meaning your Grace.
Pages:
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124