Little by little the party resumed its former tranquillity. Other
guests had come in, among them a lame old Spaniard of mild and
inoffensive aspect leaning on the arm of an elderly Filipina, who
was resplendent in frizzes and paint and a European gown. The group
welcomed them heartily, and Doctor De Espadana and his senora, the
Doctora Dona Victorina, took their seats among our acquaintances. Some
newspaper reporters and shopkeepers greeted one another and moved
about aimlessly without knowing just what to do.
"But can you tell me, Senor Laruja, what kind of man our host
is?" inquired the rubicund youth. "I haven't been introduced to
him yet."
"They say that he has gone out. I haven't seen him either."
"There's no need of introductions here," volunteered Fray
Damaso. "Santiago is made of the right stuff."
"No, he's not the man who invented gunpowder," [24] added Laruja.
"You too, Senor Laruja," exclaimed Dona Victorina in mild reproach,
as she fanned herself. "How could the poor man invent gunpowder if,
as is said, the Chinese invented it centuries ago?"
"The Chinese! Are you crazy?" cried Fray Damaso.
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