“Now let me tell you where I go when it’s fine weather. There’s a cemetery near the third Depósito. There are some houses there that we’ll go to this spring.”
The conclusion of the conversation reached Manuel in but a confused form, as he had fallen asleep. At midnight he was awakened by some voices. In the corner to which the ragamuffins had repaired two boys were rolling over the floor in a hand to hand struggle.
“I’ll pay you,” muttered one between his teeth.
“Let go. You’re choking me.”
The old mendicant, who had been awakened, got up in a fury and, seizing his stick, let it fall hard upon the shoulder of one of the boys. The youth who was struck down rose up, roaring with anger.
“Come on, now, you pig! You son of a dirty bitch!” he shrieked.
They rushed for each other, exchanged several blows and then both fell headlong to the floor.
“These young tramps are getting us in wrong,” exclaimed the old man.
A guard re-established order and expelled the trouble-makers. The denizens of the shelter were again calm and nothing more was heard save the muffled or sibilant snoring of the sleepers....