"And what's your name?"
"Mine? María la Chivato,"
"And that girl's?"
"La Tarugo."
Tarugo, who was a buxom, gipsy-like Malagueña, sat down beside
Leandro, and they started a conversation in hushed tones.
The waiter approached.
"Let's have four whiskies," ordered Chivato. "For this chap is going to drink, too," she added, turning to Manuel and seizing his arm. "Hey, you there, lad!"
"Eh!" exclaimed the boy, waking up without a notion of his whereabouts. "What do you want?"
Chivato burst into laughter.
"Wake up, man, you'll lose your express! Did you come in this afternoon on the mixed train?"