As for the bacon, Rodriguez scorned it and marched on
down the road. Now one side of the frying-pan was very hot, for it
was tilted a little and the lard had run sideways. By tilting it
back again slowly Morano could make the fat run back bit by bit
over the heated metal, and whenever it did so it sizzled. He now
picked up the frying-pan and one log that was burning well and
walked parallel with Rodriguez. He was up-wind of him, and
whenever the bacon-fat sizzled Rodriguez caught the smell of it. A
small matter to inspire thoughts; but Rodriguez had eaten nothing
since the morning before, and ideas surged through his head; and
though they began with moral indignation they adapted themselves
more and more to hunger, until there came the idea that since his
money had bought the bacon the food was rightfully his, and he had
every right to eat it wherever he found it. So much can slaves
sometimes control the master, and the body rule the brain.
So Rodriguez suddenly turned and strode up to Morano. "My bacon,"
he said.
"Master," Morano said, for it was beginning to cool, "let me make
another small fire."
"Knave, call me not master," said Rodriguez.
Morano, who knew when speech was good, was silent now, and blew on
the smouldering end of the log he carried and gathered a handful
of twigs and shook the rain off them; and soon had a small fire
again, warming the bacon. He had nothing to say which bacon could
not say better.
Pages:
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163