“Because no one can lose,” he stated with great authority.  “To lose would cause hard feelings and in heaven there can’t be any hard feelings.”

“But some one has to win,” rejoined the gambler Aristorenas.  “The fun lies in winning!”

“Well, both win, that’s easy!”

This idea of both winning could not be admitted by Aristorenas, for he had passed his life in the cockpit and had always seen one cock lose and the other win—­at best, there was a tie.  Vainly Don Primitivo argued in Latin.  Aristorenas shook his head, and that too when Don Primitivo’s Latin was easy to understand, for he talked of an gallus talisainus, acuto tari armatus, an gallus beati Petri bulikus sasabungus sit, [63] and so on, until at length he decided to resort to the argument which many use to convince and silence their opponents.

“You’re going to be damned, friend Martin, you’re falling into heresy! Cave ne cadas! I’m not going to play monte with you any more, and we’ll not set up a bank together.  You deny the omnipotence of God, peccatum mortale! You deny the existence of the Holy Trinity—­ three are one and one is three!  Take care!  You indirectly deny that two natures, two understandings, and two wills can have only one memory!  Be careful! Quicumque non crederit anathema sit!”

Martin Aristorenas shrank away pale and trembling, while Quiroga, who had listened with great attention to the argument, with marked deference offered the philosopher a magnificent cigar, at the same time asking in his caressing voice:  “Surely, one can make a contract for a cockpit with Kilisto, [64] ha?  When I die, I’ll be the contractor, ha?”

Among the others, they talked more of the deceased; at least they discussed what kind of clothing to put on him.  Capitan Tinong proposed a Franciscan habit—­and fortunately, he had one, old, threadbare, and patched, a precious object which, according to the friar who gave it to him as alms in exchange for thirty-six pesos, would preserve the corpse from the flames of hell and which reckoned in its support various pious anecdotes taken from the books distributed by the curates.  Although he held this relic in great esteem, Capitan Tinong was disposed to part with it for the sake of his intimate friend, whom he had not been able to visit during his illness.  But a tailor objected, with good reason, that since the nuns had seen Capitan Tiago ascending to heaven in a frock coat, in a frock coat he should be dressed here on earth, nor was there any necessity for preservatives and fire-proof garments.  The deceased had attended balls and fiestas in a frock coat, and nothing else would be expected of him in the skies—­and, wonderful to relate, the tailor accidentally happened to have one ready, which he would part with for thirty-two pesos, four cheaper than the Franciscan habit, because he didn’t want to make any profit on Capitan Tiago, who had been his customer in life and would now be his patron in heaven.  But Padre Irene, trustee and executor, rejected both proposals and ordered that the Capitan be dressed in one of his old suits of clothes, remarking with holy unction that God paid no attention to clothing.