Then, at last he resigned the petty offices he had been filling; and handing his usury business over to those who formerly had served him as go-betweens, he set himself to the task of marrying off his son and sole heir, Ramon, an idling ne’er-do-well, who was always getting into trouble and upsetting the tranquil comfort that surrounded old Brull as he rested from his plunderings.

The father felt the satisfaction of a bully in having such a tall, strong, daring and insolent son, a boy who compelled respect in cafes and clubs more with his fists than with the special privileges conferred in small towns by wealth.  Let anyone dare make fun of the old usurer when he had such a fire-eater to protect him!

Ramon had wanted to join the Army; but every time he referred to what he called his vocation, his father would fly into a rage.  “Do you think that is what I’ve worked for all these years?” He could remember the time when, as a poor clerk, he had been forced to fawn on his superiors and listen humbly, cringingly, to their reprimands.  He did not want a boy of his to be shoved about hither and thither like a mere machine.  “Plenty of brass buttons,” he exclaimed with the scorn of a man never to be taken in by external show, “and plenty of gold braid!  But after all, a slave, a slave!”

No, he wanted to see his son free and influential, continuing the conquest of the city, completing the family greatness of which he had laid the foundations, getting power over people much as he himself had gotten power over money.  Ramon must become a lawyer, the only career for a man destined to rule others.  It was a passionate ambition the old pettifogger had, to see his scion enter through the front door and with head proudly erect, the precincts of the law, into which he had crawled so cautiously and at the risk, more than once, of being dragged out with a chain fastened to his ankle.

Ramon spent several years in Valencia without getting beyond the elementary courses in Common Law.  The cursed classes were held in the morning, you see, and he had to go to bed at dawn—­the hour when the lights in the pool-rooms went out.  Besides, in his quarters at the hotel he had a magnificent shotgun—­a present from his father; and homesickness for the orchards made him pass many an afternoon at the pigeon traps where he was far better known than at the University.

This fine specimen of masculine youth—­tall, muscular, tanned, with a pair of domineering eyes to which thick eyebrows gave a touch of harshness—­had been born for action, and excitement; Ramon simply couldn’t concentrate on books!

Old Brull, who through niggardliness and prudence had placed his son on “half rations,” as he put it, sent the boy just money enough to keep him going; but dupe, in turn, of the wiles he had formerly practiced on the rustics of Alcira, he was compelled to make frequent trips to Valencia, to come to some understanding with money lenders there, who had advanced loans to his son on such terms that insolvency might lead Ramon to a prison cell.