“Well, as this is not a fighting matter,” said Quentin to El Garroso, “we’ll have two rounds, eh?”
“Sí, Señor.”
They placed their elbows upon the table, clasped hands, and the chairs, the table, and even the bones of the adversaries began to creak.
El Garroso turned red; a vein in his forehead, as large as a finger, looked as if it were about to burst. Quentin was impassive.
“Do you think you are going to lose, Rano?” he said to the little man.
“No, indeed.”
“That’s right. Now you’ll see.” And without making an apparent effort—crack! El Garroso’s arm fell to the table, his knuckles striking the boards forcibly.
Every one was astonished.
“Good, now let’s try it again,” said Quentin.
“No, no. You’re stronger than I am,” murmured El Garroso.