“I’ll bet six,” gruffly replied a charcoal-burner nicknamed El Torrezno.
More cards were tossed upon the table, and, as before, Pajarote won.
“I don’t want to play,” squeaked Charpaneja.
“Why not?” asked the banker.
“Because your hands are always lucky.”
“The fact is, you haven’t any spirit,” replied Pajarote coldly. “You start out like a Cordovese colt, and quit like a donkey of La Mancha.”
At this point Currito returned, and coming up to Señor José, said:
“La Generosa hasn’t come yet, but Señora Rosario with her two girls, and Don Gil Sabadía are in the next room.”
“Well, let’s go in,” said Pacheco.
He and Quentin again came out into the patio, and entered a room illuminated by a brass lamp set upon a round table. By the light of the lamp he could see a frightful-looking old woman with a hooked nose and moles on her chin, two young girls with flowers in their hair, and a bushy-haired old man with a long beard.