The New North West

DON FERNANDO.

In the large cities of Mexico poverty is very prevalent; beggars are numerous and alms-seeking is reduced to a science. The laws are very strict against asking alms openly, and hence beggars resort to artful means to extort aid from charitable people. While the law expressly forbids asking alms, it does not prevent beggars from accepting aid. These professional beggars evade the law by pretending to peddle goods, sell trifles or act as street porters, etc.; but they actually live on alms bestowed by charitable people.

These 'professional beggars' are generally dressed in rags and tatters, and on their faces carry a woe-begone and hungry expression. Should you bestow alms on one of these gentry, he will call down the blessings of heaven and all the saints on your head; should you not give him alms, he will curse you and consign you to the hottest part of Hades. Indeed, their seeming piety is only excelled by their persistency and profanity.

Adjoining the federal building in the City of Mexico was a little portico that jutted out from the main building. A Mexican occupied this place. He was a dignified-looking, middle-aged man, and while his clothes were rather old and seedy-looking, he kept them carefully brushed and always presented a shabby-genteel appearance. From daylight till dark, he was to be found at his post. He wore wide-legged, white cotton pants, ornamented with a broad yellow stripe; high-heeled boots, always neatly blacked; a long, black Prince Albert coat, shining from age, buttoned closely over his chest and its lapel adorned with a bouquet of roses; his head was covered with a high stovepipe hat of uncertain age and remoter fashion; and a pearl gray vest decorated with a huge brass watch chain; a gorgeous red sash and a sky-blue neck-tie completed his wearing apparel and finely set off his well-built figure. In fact, he presented such a well-dressed, genteel appearance that the employees of the federal building bestowed on him the flattering and dignified title of 'Don Fernando.'

Don Fernando really lived on alms, but he was too shrewd to openly solicit donations from charitable people, as such a course would lead to his arrest and conviction as a vagrant and beggar. To comply with the requirements of the law he had taken out a 'merchant's license.' In the eyes of the law Don Fernando was a 'merchant,' though his name did not figure prominently on 'change, while, as a matter of fact, he was a beggar and depended on charity for his living.

Don Fernando had a small box and a small portable stand. He was a 'merchant,' so his license said, and his 'stock' consisted of a few Spanish weekly papers, a box of cigars that no one could smoke, a dozen boxes of matches innocent of sulphur, and a gross of lead pencils devoid of plumbago. He could talk English pretty fair and looked upon American tourists with great favor, as he frequently secured alms from them. He claimed to keep 'American books and papers' for the benefit of American tourists. These 'American books and papers' consisted of a few tattered and out of date Globe-Democrats and a bundle of Ayer's almanacs, and patent medicine pamphlets that he had gathered up at drug stores.

Don Fernando was always on the look-out for American tourists. Should an American pass within a rod of his 'business' stand, Don Fernando would instantly resume a graceful and dignified attitude and call out in English: 'Here is American books and newspapers for sale; the finest collection in the city. Colonel, will you please buy a late paper?'

This would fetch the tourist every time. He would look over the 'selection of American books and newspapers,' but, as the papers were usually out of date, he would ask for a later one. Then Don Fernando's face would assume a doleful expression, and in a half-sobbing voice he would assure the tourist 'that while he spoke English, he could not read it; that news agents took advantage of him and worked off old papers on him; that he was an honest, but poor man; he had a wife and five children, the youngest of which was an infant only three days old; that he must sell his goods to procure himself and family their evening meal; would not the rich American buy something from him; should he do so, the saints in heaven would bless him.'

As Don Fernando never had anything that a person would possibly desire to buy the tourist would generally bestow a few nickels in alms, and continue on his way. Don Fernando would loudly call down the blessings of heaven on his benefactor, wipe away the supposed tears, re-arrange his 'stock,' light a cigarette, sit down, and patiently await another tourist 'sucker.'

Don Fernando did not seem to make great efforts to make a sale; but to every American who stopped at his 'news' stand he would relate his affecting tale of poverty and woe, and lay particular stress on unfortunately being the father 'of an infant three days old.' The infant part of his pathetic story was particularly affecting, and it always fetched a dime or a quarter from the charitably disposed auditor. Had Don Fernando been the father of twins, I am sure he would have bankrupted all the tourists.

At dusk Don Fernando would 'close up his shop,' feeling happy that while he had made but few sales his 'stock' was still undiminished, his fair receipts for the day were clear profit. He would put his 'stock' in the box, shoulder it and start for his home. Bright and early the next morning he would be back and ready for 'business.'

Don Fernando's 'news' stand was situated near the stamp department division room of the customs service: and the clerks could clearly overhear him recite his tale of woe to tenderfoot tourists. This mournful story soon became a chestnut to the clerks in the stamp department, and we could all repeat it word for word backward, forward, and in the English and Spanish. During a period of four months Don Fernando related his pathetic story to American tourists at least 20 times a day, and he never varied it a word. That 'infant of three days old' never got any older. But he never attempted to tell his story to Mexicans. The clerks in the federal building got pretty well acquainted with Don Fernando, to the detriment of his pocketbooks and morals, and believed he was an honest but unfortunate man; instead, as he proved to be, a canting hypocrite and consummate rascal.

For several months Don Fernando occupied his place of 'business,' and seemed to be doing well in the matter of receiving alms; though he never directly asked for charity, and seldom made a sale.

One morning Don Fernando was absent. An hour later, my attention was attracted to an uproar in the streets. I saw three policemen half carrying and dragging an intoxicated Mexican to the jail. The prisoner was vainly resisting the officers and cursing them with choice Spanish and vigorous English oaths. I looked more closely at the prisoner, and recognized in the bruised and battered face, the well-known features of Don Fernando! But the graceful, polite and genteel air was missing. The shiny, well-brushed plug hat was crushed into a shapeless mass, and hung jauntily on his left ear: the long, black Prince Albert coat was split up the back, torn to ribbons, and the shreds were fluttering in the breeze. The pearl gray vest was begrimed with dust; the sky-blue necktie, and gorgeous red sash were badly disarranged; while gaping rents in the cotton trousers exposed to public gaze those portions of Don Fernando's anatomy which edicts of fashion and city ordinances require to be concealed.

Don Fernando that night slept in jail, and the next day he had his trial. At the trial it was proved that he was a 'turbulent character' and a 'professional beggar,' that he did not have 'a wife and five children,' and that the 'three-day-old infant' only existed in his fertile imagination. For months Don Fernando had been pretending to be an honest 'merchant,' but in reality he was only a 'professional beggar,' and had lived on alms gained through false pretenses and lying tales of family misfortunes.

The police magistrate sentenced Don Fernando to six months' imprisonment for 'fighting, begging and exposure of person.' His 'merchant's license' was revoked, and his stall near the federal building placarded 'to rent.'

I frequently saw the prisoner while he was working out his fine on the streets, but in the striped-clad, sullen and tough-looking convict I could hardly recognize the graceful, polite and genteel Don Fernando, late 'News Merchant,' near the federal building.

The moral of this story is: Don't beg, but if necessary, steal first. It is more honorable if it is more risky.

SID.