Evening Republican, Volume 18, Number 265, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 9 November 1914 — BENSON AND BENITO [ARTICLE]

BENSON AND BENITO

By HENRY KIRK.

(Copyright.) Benson had been In Mexico nine months, and in that remarkably short time had realized his two great ideas, a fortune and the future Mrs. Benson. The former he had struck in the San Pablo mines, and the latter in the Senorita Dona Maria Loreta Escandon, the daughter of the mayor of Puebla. To be literal, Benson had only found his ideal in the Senorita Maria Loreta, for so far she had given, him little encouragement to think she would be anything, else. This was not especially discouraging to Benson, for, after all, if a man has his ideal, he has ■om&hing for which to work and of which to think —and Benson thought of Maria Loreta. He thought of her as often as he did pf the mine in the hills beyond Puebla. He thought of her yeilow- < bronze hair and her blue eyes, a remembrance from her Andalusian fathers. He thought of her white skin and her marvelously small hands and feeC

He knew that he could be proud of her in his home, as well as being happy with her, and that she had all the little graces and laces of Bocial and domestic economy well forward. Maria Loreta had gone frrschool in Paris and had traveled as far as the Taj Mahal. She had also passed two winters in Washington with her cousin, the wife of the Mexican minister. Her English was better than his own, and . she could talk of many things, from the Petersburg duma to certain little pink fishes in the China sea. Just what she thought of him he did not know. He imagined she placed him In A somewhere that was merely amiable. He had worked hard enough to make an impression—used all his ways of attack —picnics and dinners, theaters and stacks of flowers. Upon this particular day Benson sat beside her in the Plaza de Toros. He enjoyed the national pastime well enough, but came upon this occasion principally to see Maria Loreta, He left his mines in the hills, his peons and his ponies, to come into Puebla and sit beside the mayor’s daughter in the mayor’s own box at the great correo.

Things would not have been so bad If it had not been for the Senor Don Luis Tovar, who sat in the adjoining chair, next to the Dona Marcela, the aunt of Maria Loreta. “Senorita Loreta,” said Benson softly, “you are wearing my flowers.” “Ah, so I am,” smiled the girl. "Just think of all the flowers I have worn since I was a child! Do you know, I have done nothing else.” “They were made for you.” “Everything was made for us, Senor Benson —the sky and the earth, the sun and the little trees, and the big one, too — Ah, there is Benito!” Benson looked down into, the arena. A magnificent bull had been released from his pen and had bounded into* the open. Upon his shoulder was a flaming ribbon, the color of his owner. The animal paused a moment as if stunned by the sudden transition from darkness to the light, looked about him, and then made a rush for the nearest capeador with his crimson cloak. '- “That is ouri Benito!” cried Maria Loreta. “Is he not beautiful? When he was born I made him a wreath of roses. So, you see, Senor Benson, the flowers were made for the bulls, too.” Benson could make no reply to this. There seemed nothing that he could say.

The girl went on: “Not that I care so extremely for the bull fight, but this is our Benito. It is his third time in the ring; the banderilleros have never conquered him.” Benson leaned toward her. “It seems a privilege of your family, Senorita Loreta, to conquer.” “My father and my brothers?” “I mean you.” "I! What have I done?” “I have been trying to tell you—” “See how Benito eludes them! Was there ever such gayety in the plaza!” Benson looked out through the yellow air. The people upon the opposite side were baking in the sun, but they were as enthusiastic as those about him in the comfortable shade. It was indeed a great day. The band played; the flags hung gayly from their poles; everybody cheered. Benson leaned over again, 800 Lois was watching him and broke out into a laugh. This threw Benson off. It was like a banderllla in his own heart. There were more of them there than were in the shoulder of Benito. The only difference was Benito didn’t seem to mind. Don Luis talked incessantly. He laughed and he rolled his ,eyes and he clapped his hands. He made ejaculations and addressed Benito as if he were a god. Benson saw tha|ell this pleased the girl. Why was he not a toreador or something like that? Why could he not distinguish himself in the eyes of the one he loved? All he could do was to make money, but that was the last in her thought. He became desperate. “Senorita Loreta,” he said tensely, "I love you!” * “Senor Benson, my aunt will hear you.” “I do not care." “Don Luis." "What difference—l—” “And it is not the custom of my country to—” She raised her aboul-

derfc. “You must appear indifferent, as Don Luis is looking- Do you know, he is almost uncanny at times —the way he looks.” “You do not wish him to know?” “No—no—no—you silly man. Why should I?” “1 have loved you from the first time that I saw you." "And how long is that?” “Nine months. I saw you the day I came to Mexico.” “You are constant. Nine months! That is long to love.” . - Don Luis made an exclamation. The girl looked up quickly. “We are forgetting Benito. See how he makes them run! He will not be conquered. He will have another year of freedom. Stay where you are, Don Luis. Aunt Marcela wishes to say something, I am sure.” She turned and smiled at; Benson and waited. He said nothing, for hia words stuck somewhere. “It is very different in Mexico, Se*. nor Benson, when you wish to marry. So many things to do.” “f love you!” “I shall not listen if you speak so loudly. Every one can hear you—even Benito is looking up. He will be Jealous. How are your mines? Soon you will be very rich, then yoq will go back to your own country—where is it —Boston? What would I do in Boston? What would they say to me? I would freeze to death!” “Not Boston, but anywhere it would please you.”

“If it were California —or — But what am I saying? Only you did it so nicely. Do you know, you are just like a little boy—-so eager to do something good. Forgive me if I laugh, but it is so nice and innocent I wonder why we laugh at innocence in a man, when of all people in the world he needs it most? I don’t know what Benito is, but I think he must., be very cross and angry—he is even cross with me.” “He is jealous, like every man who loves you.” “Are you?" “Yes—even of the air you breathe. I am jealous of the ground beneath your feet. I am jealous of the lace upon your shoulder —I could almost tear it from you. Sometimes out there in the mine I could go mad thinking of you.” “That is very nice.”

“No, it is not—it is horrible. It is unfair to myself—it is unfair to you.” “Oh, no, It is a compliment. Do you not think so? You are looking at it from a purely personal way. Now suppose I thought of you in that sense — well?” She raised her eyebrows and smiled. “Well,.then you would understand it as I do. Ah, Mr. Benson —I think I shall drop the senor.” “Then there is no use?”

He looked at her with longing eyes, regardless of Don Luis, of Dona Marcela, of every one, even of Benito. “It would be cruel to say that, do you not think? And —ah, how do I know! I know nothing. I know only that I am very happy and that I wish to live always just as lam now. But see —Benito is conqueror!” \ A great up from the crowd. Don Luis rose upon his feet, waving his arms wildly. Benito was indeed conqueror. He was bearing the allotted number of banderillas and had routed the last •man-from the ring. He stood there in his glory, the colors of the family of Maria Loreta , streaming from his shoulder. The band blared a triumph. The people went mad. A little breeze came along and fluttered the flag. Benson stared before him. He rose suddenly, jumped over the railing of the box, and made his way down through the benches to the ringside. Maria Loreta looked after him in horror.

Benson reached the little passageway at the bottom, snatched a cloak from a capeador, and jumped into the arena. Benito 1 looked at him-a moment, then charged upon him. There was a dead silence In the crowd. Maria Loreta felt that she was about to faint or die. She shut her eyes. A great shout opened them. There was Bern son flaunting the scarlet cloak in the very nose of Benito: He jumped aside —ran this way and that—not with the skill of the artist, but with a certain desperate agility-for which he could cot account.

Here was a sensation, and Puebla rose —an American bull fighter—the mine owner of San Pablo—the man who every one knew was in love with Maria Loreta. Then all Puebla, looking on, knew why he was so dexterous. It was nothing else than love — the little bfg thihg that makes everything what it is not—and all Puebla, looking on, gave a mighty shout Then Benson made his bow —first to Marla Loreta in the box of her father, the mayor of Puebla, and then to the people themselves —to those In the sun as well as to those in the shade. Then he vaulted the railing and made his way back to his place, Benito looking after him Id a sort of wonder. The girl greeted him without a smile. “Why did you do it? You might have been killed!" “For you—to prove that I love you!” “You need not —have done it. I knew —it —and —we —shall live —wherever—you—please! ” Then Maria Loreta fainted.