"Where?"
"To the Pirates. We meet today. They must be waiting for us already."
"What do you mean,—pirates?"
"Bizco and the others."
"And why do they call 'em that?"
"Because they're like the old time pirates."
Manuel and Vidal stepped into the patio and leaving the house, walked off down Embajadores lane.
"They call us the Pirates," explained Vidal, "from a certain battle of stones we had. Some of the kids from the Paseo de las Acacias had got some sticks and formed a company with a Spanish flag at the head; then I, Bizco, and three or four others, began to throw stones at them and made them retreat. The Corretor, a fellow who lives in our house, and who saw us chasing after them, said to us: 'Say, are you pirates or what? For, if you're pirates you ought to fly the black flag. Well, next day I swiped a dark apron from my father and I tied it to a stick and we got after the kids with the Spanish flag and came near making them surrender it. That's why they call us the Pirates."
The two cousins came to a tiny, squalid district.
"This is the Casa del Cabrero," said Vidal. "And here are our chums."