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 necessary for him to open his mouth or raise his hand, for humanity to writhe in laughter. The sight of him was enough. As soon as he appeared, all faces beamed; if he made a spontaneous gesture, laughter could be heard, if he opened his mouth some shrieked, others loosened their belts so as to laugh better. If he spoke, good Lord! one heard shrieks of laughter, yells, squeaks, chokes, sniffling and tremendous catching of breath.

"He beats the devil, this Pontes!"

"Hold on, man, you'll make me gag!"

And when the wit tried to look innocent and idiotic, remarking:

"But what did I do? I never opened my mouth. …"

"Ha, ha, ha!" everyone laughed, their jaws aching, weeping spasmodically with uncontrollable hilarity.

As time passed, the mere mention of his name was enough to provoke merriment. If anyone pronounced the word "Pontes," the gun-cotton of risibles by which man raises himself above animals who do not laugh, would instantly ignite.

Thus he lived until the age of Christ in a smiling parable, laughing and provoking laughter, without a serious thought,—a vagabond life that exchanges grimaces for dinners and pays small bills with ponderous jokes. A merchant whom he had cheated once said to him, amidst bursts of spluttering laughter:

"You amuse me, at least, and are not like Major Carapuça who cheats with a face like a wooden Indian.

That unstamped receipt troubled our wag