“And what does that mean?” asked Quentin.
“That means, that if you are a man, we’ll have two glasses now, and then go and cut each other’s hearts out.”
Without replying Quentin stood up, seized Carrahola by the neck of his coat, lifted him like a puppet, and let him fall upon the soles of his boots, which struck the floor with a ludicrous sound. Everybody burst out laughing. Carrahola charged furiously at Quentin with lowered head; but the latter with the easy movement of a boxer, threw him over his hip into the air; then he took him in his two strong hands, pushed him up to the window, and watch, knife, broad-brimmed hat and all, tossed him into the street.
“You’ll have to learn how to treat people politely,” said Quentin after the operation was over.
“What a lad!” exclaimed El Manano. “He dropped him in the box like a letter!”
Murmurs of admiration were heard all over the tavern. Then a boy, or a small man (one could not determine his age easily), with reddish hair and a very freckled face, a mutilated calañés, and a twill coat, came hopping toward Quentin.
“Good evening,” he said. “El Garroso, that carter over there, has some friends who say that if he ‘tried wrists’ with you, he could beat you. We say he couldn’t do it. Would you like to try wrists with him, Don Quentin?”
“No, not now, thanks.”
“Excuse me if I was wrong to ask you; but some are betting on you and others on him.”
“Whom did you bet on?”