e he was very anxious to show it to him, and to explain the great
improvements that he was planning to make in it, if his father and
brother, both whom were very conservative, did not make too strong
opposition. He expressed his desire so eagerly that finally one
afternoon Miguel decided to take a carriage and drive to Cuatros
Caminos, from which it was easy to reach the candle factory of Utrilla
and Company.

"Is Senor Utrilla here?"

"Don Manuel does not often come to the factory; he lives at forty-six
Sacramento Street."

"I want to see his son."

"Ah! Don Rafael," said the door-keeper. "Yes, sir; he is here. Walk in."

"It is Don Jacobo whom I want to see."

"Don Jacobo," repeated the door-keeper, hesitating and smiling. "Ah yes,
sir, Jacobito; I had forgotten. He is here too. Walk in."

Jacobo was writing in the same room with his elder brother, who, when he
saw that it was a friend of Jacobo, scarcely deigned to lift his head,
and gave a slight nod. Utrilla, however, colored to the ears, and came
to greet him with great eagerness.

"Don Miguel! You here? How glad I am!... Rafael," he added, addressing
his brother, "I am going to show the factory to Senor Rivera."

Rafael without looking up, said:--

"Very well."

They went out of the office and passed slowly through the shops,
stopping to examine the mechanism of each process, which Utrilla
explained in a loud voice. From time to time he would say in an
imperious tone:--

"Jose, run this mould!... Enrique, lift this lid!"

The workmen were in no haste to obey these orders, and he had to repeat
them in a voice which any operatic basso would have envied.

The ex-cadet's factory garb could not have been more
appropriate,--trousers of drilling, red shirt, shoes, and an old coat
with the collar turned up. Although it was very warm, Utrilla, both on
the street and at home, always wore his collar this way, which gave him
the appearance of being a very dissipated man, and this was something
that delighted him.

In the rooms where the women were working, Utrilla allowed himself to
take some liberties with the operatives, such as winking at them,
twitching at their handkerchiefs, and making this or that dubious little
witticism.

"You will excuse me, Don Miguel; these are the bad habits of military
life. Though one were going to be shot, one couldn't help saying some
nonsense to the girls."

"All right, all right, friend Utrilla; don't incommode yours