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BRAZILIAN SHORT STORIES
31

in one exception: laughter is the prerogative of the human species,—aldermen excepted.

As the years passed, reflection matured, self-respect grew and the free dinners tasted bitter to him. The coining of joke currency became very difficult, it no longer was cast with the former light-heartedness; now it was done as a livelihood, not in thoughtless merriment of the days past. He mentally compared himself to a circus clown, old and ailing, obliged through poverty to transform rheumatism into comical faces required by the paying public.

He began to flee from mankind and spent months in the study of the transition necessary to obtain an honest employment for his activities. He thought of going into business, commerce, the administration of a plantation, the setting up of a bar—anything was preferable to the comic idiocy adopted up to the present.

One day, his plans fully matured, he decided to change his way of living. He looked up a friendly tradesman and frankly told him of his intentions to reform, finally asking him for a place in his business-house, if only that of sweeper. He hardly finished telling his plans when the Portuguese and all the cashiers who looked on at a distance awaiting the outcome, writhed in a hearty guffaw, highly delighted.

"What a good joke! First class! Ha! ha! ha! Then you … ha! ha! ha! You'll give me a pain, man! If it's on account of that little bill for cigarettes, rest easy, I'm already paid for it! Ha! ha! ha! Pontes has … Do you hear that one, Jose? Ha! ha! ha!"