If he hunted for a bottle of brandy on his return from a swim, it was only to use it in rubbing himself down.
Money entered through his doors once a year, when the girls of the vintage lined up among the trellises of his vineyards, cutting the bunches of little, close fruit and spreading them out to dry in some small sheds called _riurraus_.

Thus was produced the small raisin preferred by the English for the making of their puddings.

The sale was a sure thing, the boats always coming from the north to get the fruit.
And the _Triton_, upon finding five or six thousand pesetas in his hand, would be greatly perplexed, inwardly asking himself what a man was ever going to do with so much money.
"All this is yours," he said, showing the house to his nephew.
His also the boat, the books and the antique furniture in whose drawers the money was so openly hid that it invited attention.
In spite of seeing himself lord of all that surrounded him, a rough and affectionate despotism, kept nevertheless, weighing the child down.

He was very far from his mother, that good lady who was always closing the windows near him and never letting him go out without tying his neckscarf around him with an accompaniment of kisses.
Just when he was sleeping soundest, believing that the night would still be many hours longer, he would feel himself awakened by a violent tugging at his leg.

His uncle could not touch him in any other way.
"Get up, cabin boy!" In vain he would protest with the profound sleepiness of youth....