The young
man was so frightened that he never dared to open his mouth.
"Come," shouted Dicenta, "we shall settle this matter at once."
"I have nothing to settle with you," replied the young man.
"Yes, sir, you have; you have stated in an article that my ideas are not
revolutionary."
"I never stated anything of the kind."
"What is that?"
"No, sir."
"But aren't you Pio Baroja?"
"I am not, sir."
Dicenta turned on his heel and marched back to his seat.
Sometime later, Dicenta and I became friends, although we were never
very intimate, because he felt that I did not appreciate him at his full
worth. And it was the truth.
THE POSTHUMOUS ENMITY OF SAWA
I met Alejandro Sawa one evening at the Cafe Fornos, where I had gone
with a friend.
As a matter of fact, I had never read anything which he had written, but
his appearance impressed me. Once I followed him in the street with the
intention of speaking to him, but my courage failed at the last moment.
A number of months later, I met him one summer afternoon on the
Recoletos, when he was in the company of a Frenchman named Cornuty.
Cornuty and Sawa were conversing and reciting verses; they took me to a
wine-shop in the Plaza de Herradores, where they drank a number of
glasses, which I paid for, whereupon Sawa asked me to lend him three
pesetas.
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