mendicant friar who goes from door to door with his donkey and sack,
begging alms, the friars of the Philippines scattered gold from full
hands among the miserable Indians.

"Look, here's Padre Camorra!" exclaimed Ben-Zayb, upon whom the effect
of the champagne still lingered. He pointed to a picture of a lean
friar of thoughtful mien who was seated at a table with his head
resting on the palm of his hand, apparently writing a sermon by the
light of a lamp. The contrast suggested drew laughter from the crowd.

Padre Camorra, who had already forgotten about Paulita, saw what was
meant and laughing his clownish laugh, asked in turn, "Whom does this
other figure resemble, Ben-Zayb?"

It was an old woman with one eye, with disheveled hair, seated on
the ground like an Indian idol, ironing clothes. The sad-iron was
carefully imitated, being of copper with coals of red tinsel and
smoke-wreaths of dirty twisted cotton.

"Eh, Ben-Zayb, it wasn't a fool who designed that" asked Padre Camorra
with a laugh.

"Well, I don't see the point," replied the journalist.

"But, _puñales_, don't you see the title, _The Philippine Press_? That
utensil with which the old woman is ironing is here called the press!"

All laughed at this, Ben-Zayb himself joining in good-naturedly.

Two soldiers of the Civil Guard, appropriately labeled, were placed