“A toast, a toast. At last the hour of acknowledgment between two social classes has arrived.” He addressed Garcia, who staggered to his feet and filled the three glasses.
“To you, my friend, my brother.!” They all drank, Lunarito obediently.
Garcia felt a necessity to refer to politics as he always did when he heard the word classes mentioned:
“If the government only knew.!”
The beggar circled around the table and approached Garcia confidentially. Lunarito disappeared again.
“Never mind the government, my boy. you say that you are broke?” he whispered.
“What did you say?”
“That you have no money,” the beggar explained.
“Oh, yes, I am broke, but now I am going to change this coin and that will carry me through.”
“Change that coin? No, my boy, don’t even think of such a thing. You said your father gave it to you on your birthday?”
“Yes, but as I have told you. I don’t begin work until. ”
“Don’t worry about that, young man; after all, we only have one father. ”
Garcia made a doubting noise.
“Whether we have any certainty about the particular circumstances, my boy, we only have one real father. You must keep the coin.” The beggar produced a wallet. “When do you say you begin work?”
“Next month. but. ”
The beggar took a handful of bills and offered them to Garcia without counting them:
“Here, my boy, this will help you along, and if you need anything.”
If there has ever been a grateful look in this world, it was the one which Garcia gave the beggar. He reeled on his feet, his mouth quivered and he fell, embracing his benefactor, covering his shoulder with fresh tears. He was sobbing aloud, crying words of thanks. At last he fell on his knees and insisted on kissing the beggar’s hand.
Again Lunarito appeared in the door and her eyes registered the most comical surprise. Then Garcia rose and she saw both men reeling down the corridor, heard the door open and their voices:
“I would have never taken it from you. ”
“If you ever need anything come to me as if I were your father.”
“You are the greatest man I have ever met.”
“The hour of acknowledgment has arrived.”
“If the government only knew.!”
“Never mind the government, my boy; after all, we only have one father.”
And then Lunarito heard the door close.
Fingerprints
The origin of the theory of fingerprints has been claimed by several countries. Spain is among these countries and the man responsible for the discovery was a certain draftsman, very skilled with the pen in all detail work, who is also responsible for one of the series of postage stamps bearing the image of the King.
The son of the Spanish precursor to the theory of fingerprints was very proud of his father. He was rather proud of being the son of such a great man. In short, he was proud of being Don Gil Bejarano y Roca, son of Don Esteban Bejarano y Ulloa, the Spanish discoverer of the theory of fingerprints.
It is not known whether Don Esteban Bejarano y Ulloa ever gauged or even suspected the important application of his discovery to criminology. His main object, it seems, was simply the identification of a given individual or the unmistakable differentiation among several individuals. But there are serious and strong reasons to deny that in his subconscious mind lay dormant the principle which wove a subtle thread of crime and disgrace, twining itself throughout the future generations of the Bejarano family, as some superstitious and jealous people have pointed out with a view to detriment.
The Bejarano family had been always rather obscure and unimportant. It belonged to the middle class, a term which in Spain has a far sadder meaning than anywhere else, because of the fatal, everlasting qualities of classes there. It is difficult for a name to rise in Spain, the money factor being until quite lately devoid of much social weight and marriage being one of the few reliable means of lifting a family.
It is, therefore, by no means surprising that Don Gil Bejarano should be so proud of his father, that for him fingerprints should mean more than for anybody else, that he considered this discovery as the basis of his social uplifting hopes. For Don Gil fingerprints were the thing that made his name stand a bit above the hateful average which he, as all those who belong to it, hated so much. For Don Gil the discovery of his father was the first stepping-stone to all his hopes, it was a priceless asset. Fingerprints were something that distinguished his name from the infinite other names as common as Bejarano, without which he would have been drowned in the sea of mediocrity. Gil Bejarano himself was a case in which fingerprints had proved their value to the utmost. On them he based his identity. Fingerprints were everything to Don Gil, he had based his whole existence on his father’s discovery.
Don Gil loved fingerprints, he thought of nothing else; they were the main theme of his conversation. For ten years he had done everything in his power to have his father’s monograph on the subject, which he always carried about with him, translated into every language. He had accosted a German fellow whom he discovered at the Prado Museum making a copy of a Velazquez, and proposed that he translate the monograph into German. The German was not very enthusiastic, but Don Gil was blind in everything concerning this subject and he had felt sure that a shrug of the shoulders was an eloquent way for a German to express the most ravishing enthusiasm. Don Gil had written numberless articles, proving in a conclusive manner that his father was the only genuine and real precursor of fingerprints, that all the others were fakes and impostors. Don Gil had shouted and pounded on café tables. As a true Spanish patriot who cared for nothing but his country, he had insulted Spain. He said that the Spanish people were careless and lazy, that they never boosted national glories and never asserted themselves before other nations. Don Gil was sure that if his father had been a Frenchman or an Englishman, the whole world would know that he was the great discoverer of fingerprints. Patriotism and fingerprint mania had blended in Don Gil, forming a most deplorable product. Most Spaniards of the older generation always attributed to patriotism most of their actions. And Don Gil pounded on the tables and shouted and insulted Spain. Fortunately, Spanish people are indifferent and café tables strong.
Don Gil had now been working for five years on a drive to compel everyone to have his fingerprints recorded in the office of the Prefect, at this time his brother-in-law. He insisted that it was a necessary measure and he himself headed the movement and had his own fingerprints recorded there. The Spanish public is reluctant to do anything that smacks of compulsion or community method. The people have a horror of all matters of the law, of anything having to do with the police. At that time fingerprints had already acquired a restricted sense and somber reputation of being related intimately to the criminal world. Anyone who should have his fingerprints recorded would already feel like a suspect, a potential criminal, and the result was that the only fingerprints in the office of the Prefect, aside from those of criminals, were those of Don Gil. This Don Gil considered an irrefutable proof of the fact that he was the only faithful citizen and only patriot in Spain, aside from the young King, whose fingerprints, by the way, were not recorded.
Don Gil had no end of discussions with his brother-in-law upon the subject, but with the perseverance which characterized him Don Gil ended by convincing the Prefect of the infallibility of fingerprints. When their last argument ended, the Prefect patted his brother-in-law on the back and said:
“If I had your tenacity very few criminals would escape me.”
And Don Gil assumed that air of benevolence which he could always command when he had conquered a stubborn case.