announce in the big letter:  ‘Mooch Importance.  The Aztec, He is Found.’  ‘How He Look and Lif.’  ‘The Everlasting Nigger.’  You shall sell many paper, and Urania shall have scoop in much spondulics and rocks.  Hoop-la!  For—­you comprehend?—­my wife and I have settled that she shall forgif her oncle; I shall forgif my father; but from them we take no cent, not a red, not a scad!  We are independent!  Of ourselves we make a Fourth of July.  United we stand; divided we shall fall over!  There you are!  Bueno!”

It was impossible to resist his wild, yet perfectly sincere, extravagance, his dancing black eyes and occasional flash of white teeth in his otherwise immovable and serious countenance.  Nevertheless, I managed to say:—­

“But how about yourself, Enriquez, and this geology, you know?”

His eyes twinkled.  “Ah, you shall hear.  But first you shall take a drink.  I have the very old Bourbon.  He is not so old as the Aztec, but, believe me, he is very much liflier.  Attend!  Hol’ on!” He was already rummaging on a shelf, but apparently without success; then he explored a buffet, with no better results, and finally attacked a large drawer, throwing out on the floor, with his old impetuosity, a number of geological specimens, carefully labeled.  I picked up one that had rolled near me.  It was labeled “Conglomerate sandstone.”  I picked up another:  it had the same label.

“Then you are really collecting?” I said, with astonishment.

“Ciertamente,” responded Enriquez,—­“what other fool shall I look?  I shall relate of this geology when I shall have found this beast of a bottle.  Ah, here he have hide!” He extracted from a drawer a bottle nearly full of spirits,—­tippling was not one of Enriquez’s vices.  “You shall say ‘when.’  ’Ere’s to our noble selfs!”

When he had drunk, I picked up another fragment of his collection.  It had the same label.  “You are very rich in ‘conglomerate sandstone,’” I said.  “Where do you find it?”

“In the street,” said Enriquez, with great calmness.

“In the street?” I echoed.

“Yes, my friend!  He ees call the ‘cobblestone,’ also the ‘pouding-stone,’ when he ees at his home in the country.  He ees also a small ‘boulder.’  I pick him up; I crack him; he made three separate piece of conglomerate sandstone.  I bring him home to my wife in my pocket.  She rejoice; we are happy.  When comes the efening, I sit down and make him a label; while my wife, she sit down and write of the Aztec.  Ah, my friend, you shall say of the geology it ees a fine, a beautiful study; but the study of the wife, and what shall please her, believe me, ees much finer!  Believe your old Uncle ’Ennery every time!  On thees question he gets there; he gets left, nevarre!”

“But Professor Dobbs, your geologian, what does he say to this frequent recurrence of the conglomerate sandstone period in your study?” I asked quickly.