Among the women there was also a gypsy who, from time to time, would get up and walk across the tavern with a saucy strut.
Leandro ordered some glasses of whiskey; but it was so bad that nobody could drink it.
"Hey, you," called Leandro to the gipsy, offering her the glass. "Want a drink?"
"No."
The gypsy placed her hands upon the table,—a pair of stubby, wrinkled hands incrusted with dirt.
"Who are these gumps?" she asked Leandro.
"Friends of mine. Will you drink or not?" and he offered her the glass again.
"No."
Then in a shrill voice, he shouted:
"Apostle, will you have a drink?"