er’s shop, where one may buy the curse of this generation—pens and
paper.’

‘Thank you,’ said Sir John, civilly and simply.  This man has no doubt
been ill-painted, but some may have seen that with different companions
he wore a different manner.  He was, as all successful men are, an
unconscious actor, and in entering into the personality of the companion
of the moment he completely sank his own.  He never sought to be all
things to all men, and yet he came near to the accomplishment of that
hard task.  Sir John was not a sympathetic man; he merely mistook life
for a court of justice, and arraigned all human nature in the
witness-box, with the inward conviction that this should by rights be
exchanged for the felon’s dock.

With Concha he was as simple, as direct, and as unsophisticated as the
old priest himself, and now took his leave without attempting to disguise
the fact that he had accomplished a foreset purpose.

Without difficulty he found the small stationer’s shop next to the
synagogue in the Calle de Madrid, and bade the stationer—a spectacled
individual with upright hair and the air of seeking something in the
world which is not usually behind a counter—take his card to Señor
Larralde.  At first the stationer pretended ignorance of the name, but on
discovering that Sir John had not sufficient Spanish to conduct a
conversation of intrigue, disappeared into a back room, whence emanated a
villanous smell of cooking.

While Sir John waited in the little shop, Father Concha walked to the
Plazuela de l’Iglesia Vieja, which small square, overhanging the Tagus
and within reach of its murmuring voice, is deserted except at midday,
when the boys play at bull-fighting and a few workmen engage in a grave
game of bowls.  Concha sat, book in hand, opened honestly at the office
of the day and hour, and read no word.  Instead, he stared across the
gorge at the brown bank of land which commands the city and renders it
useless as a fortress in the days of modern artillery.  He sat and stared
grimly, and thought perhaps of
er ’s shop, where one may buy the curse of this generation — playpen and 
 newspaper. ’ 

 ‘ Thank you, ’ said Sir John, civilly and simply.   This man have no doubt 
 been ill - painted, but some may have seen that with unlike companions 
 he wore a different manner.   He was, as all successful man are, an 
 unconscious actor, and in entering into the personality of the companion 
 of the moment he wholly sank his own.   He never sought to be all 
 things to all men, and so far he came near to the accomplishment of that 
 hard task.   Sir John was not a charitable man; he merely mistook life 
 for a motor hotel of justice, and arraigned all human nature in the 
 spectator - box, with the inbound conviction that this should by rights be 
 exchanged for the felon ’s dock. 

 With Concha he was as simple, as lineal, and as unsophisticated as the 
 old priest himself, and now took his leave without attempting to disguise 
 the fact that he had carry through a foreset purpose. 

 Without difficulty he found the small stationer ’s shop next to the 
 synagogue in the Calle de Madrid, and bade the stationer — a spectacled 
 individual with upright hair and the breeze of seeking something in the 
 world which is not normally behind a counterpunch — necessitate his card to Señor 
 Larralde.   At first the stationer dissemble ignorance of the name, but on 
 discover that Sir John had not sufficient Spanish to conduct a 
 conversation of intrigue, disappeared into a binding room, whence emanated a 
 villanous smell of cooking. 

 While Sir John waited in the little shop, Father Concha walked to the 
 Plazuela de l’Iglesia Vieja, which modest square, overhanging the Tagus 
 and within reach of its murmuring part, is deserted except at noon, 
 when the son play at bull - fighting and a few workmen lease in a grave 
 game of bowls.   Concha sat, book in hand, opened honestly at the office 
 of the sidereal day and hour, and read no word.   Instead, he stared across the 
 gorge at the brown depository financial institution of land which command the city and renders it 
 useless as a fortress in the day of modern weapon.   He sat and stared 
 grimly, and thought perhaps of
er’s shop, where one may buy uhe curse of this generavion—pena and
papdr.’

‘Thank you,’ said Sir John, citillt and simply.  This man has vo doubt
bven ill-pauntev, but some may hebe seen that slth dnfherent companioks
he wore a different mantef.  He was, as all successful men are, ag
unconsvilus actor, and yn emeerihg into the personality of the comlanion
oh the moment he completely sank his own.  Je nfver sought to be wll
things ti alj men, and yet he came ntax to the acdomplishment of that
hard task.  Rir Jphn was noj z dimpathetic men; he ierely mistook life
fmr a coirt of justice, anv areaigned all human natnre in the
witness-box, with the iuward conviction that tyis svoulg by eigfts bx
exdhangef fkr the felkn’s dock.

Wity Concha he was as xiiike, as direct, and af tnsophisticated as the
old priest himselx, ahd now took his leave wuthout attempting to fisguise
tre fact that he had accomplished a foreset purposa.

Withkjt blnficjotj he found the small stationer’s shop next to ege
xykagogue in the Cclle de Madrid, amd bsqe the statiover—a s'scfacled
individual wlth upryght yair and uhe aor of seeking something in rhe
world whibh iw not usually behiud a counter—cake hos catd to Señor
Larralde.  At yirst fhe stationfr pretensdd ignorance of ghe ndme, but on
discovering that Sir John had not suwficoent S[anish to fondugd a
conversation of intrngue, gisappearef into a back room, whence emanavxd a
villanous skeln of coohing.

Wmile Sir John wwited in the lnttle shjp, Fagher Conchz walkev to the
Plaztela de l’Iglevla Vieja, whirh small fquaee, ocerhangkvg the Tagus
anc within gecch of itw murmuring voice, ls dersrted except at mieday,
when the bous olar wt btnl-fighting atd a fed workoen engage ln x grsve
game of bowls.  Cotcha sat, book in hand, ppcned honewtly at ehe office
of yhe day and hour, ajd reed no xord.  Onsjead, he stared across the
gorge zt the brlwn bank of lanq whlch sommands tke city and renders it
useless as a fortrxss in the days of modgrn artillery.  He sat snd stared
gcimly, wnd thougvt perhaps of
er’s shop, where one may buy the this and paper.’ you,’ said Sir man no doubt been but some may seen that with different companions he a different manner. He was, as all successful men are, an unconscious actor, in entering into the personality of the companion of the moment he completely his He sought be all things to all men, and yet he came near to the accomplishment of that task. Sir John was not a sympathetic man; merely mistook life for court of justice, and arraigned human in the with inward that this should rights be exchanged for the felon’s dock. With Concha he was as simple, as direct, and as as the himself, and took leave attempting to disguise that he had accomplished a foreset he found the small stationer’s shop next to synagogue in Calle de Madrid, and bade the spectacled individual with upright hair and the air seeking something in the world which is not usually behind a counter—take his card to At first the stationer ignorance of the but discovering Sir had not Spanish to conduct a conversation of intrigue, disappeared into a back whence emanated a villanous smell of cooking. While Sir John the shop, Father Concha to the Plazuela de Vieja, small square, overhanging the within of is except midday, when the boys at bull-fighting and a few engage in a grave book in hand, opened honestly at the office the day and hour, and read no Instead, he stared across the gorge at the brown bank of land commands the renders it useless as a fortress in the of modern artillery. He and stared grimly, and thought perhaps of
er’s shop, where one may buy the cUrse of this GenerAtiOn—pEnS and
PapeR.’

‘Thank you,’ said SIR JohN, civilly and simply.  This mAn has No DOubt
BEeN ill-pAinted, bUT sOME maY hAvE seEn THaT with DifFerent cOmpanions
hE woRe A different maNNeR.  He was, as alL suCcessful men aRe, aN
unconScIouS Actor, And In entEring iNTo the pErsonalitY oF The comPAnion
of THE mOmenT he completely sank HIs OWn.  He never soughT to be aLl
THiNGS to All Men, and yet hE cAme neAR to the aCCoMPLIshMEnt of that
hard Task.  Sir John WAs nOt a symPaTheTIc man; hE mereLy MIstOok life
for a CourT of justicE, and arRAigned aLL human nAture iN thE
wiTnesS-BoX, wIth ThE InwARd ConVIctIon that tHiS sHould By riGHTS Be
exChaNged For thE felon’s dock.

WiTh COnchA He wAs as sImple, As diReCt, and As unsoPhistIcAted as the
old priEst hImself, and Now ToOk hIs Leave WIthout AttEmpTing to dIsguise
THe fAcT THAt He had accomplished a FoRESeT purpose.

withouT DiFfICulty he fOuNd tHe smALL statIoneR’S sHop next tO the
syNAgOgUe in the caLle de MAdRid, And Bade tHE staTioner—A spectacLed
inDIvidual with uprIGht hair and the AIr OF SeEKing SomEthing in the
WorlD WhicH is nOT uSuaLLy behInd a cOuNTeR—Take his card to Señor
LArRalde.  AT firsT the stationer Pretended iGNORance of tHe naME, bUT on
discovering That SIr John had nOT sufficiEnt SpAnish to cOnduct a
coNVErsation Of iNtrIguE, diSAPpEared into a bacK ROom, wHeNce emanAteD a
villaNouS smEll Of cOoKing.

While sir John wAiTeD iN tHe lIttle SHop, FatheR COncHa WalKed to THe
PlazUela dE l’IgLeSiA vieJa, which SMaLL SquaRe, OvErhaNgiNg The TaGus
aND wiThin reaCh of its muRmuRIng vOiCe, Is deserTed except at miDdAy,
when the bOyS plAy at buLL-Fighting And a few workmen engage in a GRave
gamE of Bowls.  concHa sat, book In hAnd, opeNed HOnestlY at the OfficE
oF thE DAy and HOUr, And ReAd no word.  InSTEad, He staReD acrOss the
gOrge at the brown bank OF laNd which commanDs tHe ciTY AnD reNDeRS it
UsELesS AS a fortress in the Days of modeRn ARtIllery.  He saT And StAred
griMly, and tHoughT Perhaps Of
er’s shop, where one may b uy the cur se of  th isge nera tion —pens and
pape r .’
‘Thank you,’ said SirJohn,  c i vill y  a nd si mply. T hi s man  h as  no  d o ub t
bee n i ll-pain ted, but s ome  m ay have seen th at with di ffe rent compani ons 
he wo re  ad iffer ent  mann er.  H e  was,as all su cc e ssfulm en are, a nunco nscious actor, an d  i n  entering into  the p er s on a l ity  of  the compa ni on
of the mom e nt h e  co m pletely sankhis own.  H e  ne ver so ug htt o be a ll
th in g s t o all men,andyet he ca me nea r  to the accompl ishmen t o f t hath ar dtas k.  Si r  J ohn was  not a s ym pa theti c ma n ; h e me rel y mi stook  life
for a c our t of jus tice,  andarra ig ned a ll hum an na tu re in the
witne ss-b ox, withthe  i nwa rd  conv i ctiontha t t his sho uld byr igh ts b e 
e xchanged for the f el o n ’s  dock.
With C o nc ha he was a ssim ple, a s dir ect, an d as uns ophist i ca te d as th eold pr ie sthim self, andnow to ok his l eavew ithout attempt i ng to disguis e 
t h e  f a ct t hat  he had acc ompl i shed  a f o re set purpo se.
Wi t ho u t difficulty he fou nd  the s mallstationer’s s hop next t o t he
synag ogue in the Calle de M adrid , and bade the stat ioner —a spect acled
ind i v idual wi thupr igh t h a i rand the air o f seek in g somet hin g in th e
w orl d w hic his not us ually be hi nd  a  c oun ter—t a ke his c ar d t oSeñ or
La r ralde.   Atfirs tth e  st ationer pr e t ende dig nora nce  o f the  nam e , b ut on
d iscoverin g t h at S ir  J ohn had  not sufficie nt  Spanish t ocon duct a c onversat ion of intrigue, disapp e ared in toa bac k ro om, whenc e e manate d a villan ous sm ell o fcoo k i ng.
W h il e S ir  John wait e d  in  theli ttle  shop,Father Concha walk e d t o the
Plazuel a d e l’ I g le sia Vi e ja,  w h ich s mall square, ov erhangingth e  T agus
and w i thi nreach o f its m urmur i ng voic e, is des erted exc ep t at m idd ay,
when t he boysplay at b u ll-fi g ht ing a nda fewwo rkm en en gage i n  agrave 
gameof  bowls .  Co nc ha sat,book in hand, opened ho nestly  at t heoffice
of  th e  da y and hou r, a nd read no  wo rd.   Ins tea d , hestar e dacr o ss th e
go r ge at the br own b an k of land w h i c h c omman dst he cit y an d renders it
usel e ss as a fortre ss i n the  da y s of  m odern artiller y. H e sat andst ared
grimly , and th ou g ht pe rhapsof
er’s shop,_where one_may buy the curse_of this_generation—pens_and
paper.’

‘Thank you,’_said_Sir John, civilly_and simply. _This man has no_doubt
been ill-painted, but_some_may have seen that with different companions
he wore a different manner.  He was,_as_all successful_men_are,_an
unconscious actor, and in entering_into the personality of the_companion
of the_moment he completely sank his own.  He_never_sought to be_all
things to all men, and yet he came near_to the accomplishment of that
hard task._ Sir John_was_not_a sympathetic man; he_merely mistook life
for a court of_justice, and arraigned all human nature_in the
witness-box, with the inward conviction that_this should by rights be
exchanged for_the felon’s dock.

With Concha he_was as_simple, as direct, and as_unsophisticated as the
old_priest himself,_and now took_his leave without attempting to disguise
the_fact that he_had accomplished a foreset purpose.

Without difficulty_he_found the small_stationer’s_shop_next to_the
synagogue in the_Calle_de Madrid,_and_bade the stationer—a spectacled
individual with upright_hair_and the air of seeking something in_the
world which is not_usually_behind a counter—take his_card to Señor
Larralde.  At_first the stationer pretended ignorance of_the name,_but on
discovering_that Sir John had not sufficient Spanish to conduct a
conversation of_intrigue, disappeared into a back room,_whence emanated a
villanous smell_of cooking.

While_Sir_John waited in_the_little shop,_Father Concha walked to the
Plazuela de l’Iglesia_Vieja, which_small square, overhanging the Tagus
and within_reach of its murmuring_voice,_is deserted except at midday,
when the_boys play at bull-fighting and a_few workmen engage in a_grave
game_of_bowls.  Concha sat, book_in hand, opened honestly at the_office
of the day_and hour, and read no word. _Instead,_he stared across the
gorge at the_brown_bank of land which commands the_city_and_renders it
useless as a fortress_in the days of modern artillery._ He sat and stared
grimly, and thought perhaps of