The girls had a parlor with a few handsome pieces of
furniture placed against the cracked walls, and some showy lamps that
were never lighted. The father, with his boorishness, often invaded this
room so cherished and admired by the two sisters, making the carpets
look shabby and faded under his muddy boot-tracks. Upon the gilt
centre-table, he loved to lay his lash. Samples of maize scattered
its grains over a silk sofa which the young ladies tried to keep very
choice, as though they feared it might break.
Near the entrance to the dining room was a weighing machine, and
Madariaga became furious when his daughters asked him to remove it to
the offices. He was not going to trouble himself to go outside every
time that he wanted to know the weight of a leather skin! . . . A piano
came into the ranch, and Elena passed the hours practising exercises
with desperate good will. "Heavens and earth! She might at least play
the Jota or the Perican, or some other lively Spanish dance!" And
the irate father, at the hour of siesta, betook himself to the nearby
eucalyptus trees, to sleep upon his poncho.
This younger daughter whom he dubbed La Romantica, was the special
victim of his wrath and ridicule. Where had she picked up so many tastes
which he and his good China never had had? Music books were piled on the
piano. In a corner of the absurd parlor were some wooden boxes that had
held preserves, which the ranch carpenter had been made to press into
service as a bookcase.
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