. I escaped from prison in
Barcelona a week ago. I am a syndicalist."

"Have a drink," cried Lyaeus. "Another glass.... And we can let you
have some money if you need it, too, if you want to get out of the
country."

The _padron_ brought the wine and retired discreetly to a chair beside
the bar from which he beamed at them with almost religious approbation.

"You are comrades?"

"Of those who break out," said Lyaeus flushing. "What about the
progress of events? When do you think the pot will boil over?"

"Soon or never," said the syndicalist.... "That is never in our
lifetime. We are being buried under industrialism like the rest of
Europe. Our people, our comrades even, are fast getting the bourgeois
mentality. There is danger that we shall lose everything we have fought
for.... You see, if we could only have captured the means of production
when the system was young and weak, we could have developed it slowly
for our benefit, made the machine the slave of man. Every day we wait
makes it more difficult. It is a race as to whether this peninsula will
be captured by communism or capitalism. It is still neither one nor the
other, in its soul." He thumped his clenched fist against his chest.

"How long were you in prison?"

"Only a month this time, but if they catch me it will be bad. They
won't catch me."

He spoke quietly without gestures, occasionally rolling an unlit
cigarette between his brown fingers.

"Hadn't we better go out before it gets quite dark?" said Telemachus.

"When shall I see you again?" said Lyaeus to the syndicalist.

"Oh, we'll meet if you stay in Toledo a few days...."

Lyaeus got to his feet and took the man by the arm.

"Look, let me give you some money; won't you be wanting to go to
Portugal?"

The man flushed and shook his head.

"If our opinions coincided...."

"I agree with all those who break out," said Lyaeus.

"That's not the same, my friend."

They shook hands and Telemachus and Lyaeus went out of the tavern.

Two carriages hung with gaudily embroidered shawls, full of dominos and
pierrots and harlequins who threw handfuls of confetti at people along
the sidewalks, clattered into town through the dark arches of the gate.
Telemachus got some confetti in his mouth. A crowd of little children
danced about him jeering as he stood spluttering on the curbstone.
Lyaeus took him by the arm and drew him along the street after the
carriages, bent double with laughter. This ir