“Which?”
“That uninhabited place the fellow was telling us about. Vaciamadrid.”
“I’m ready.”
A train had just pulled into the station, so Manuel and Jesús took up a position at the entrance, where the passengers were coming out; they hoped to earn a few coins by carrying some valise.
Manuel was lucky enough to lug a gentleman’s bundle to a carriage, for which service he received a modest fee.
Manuel and Jesús proceeded now to the Prado. They were passing the Museo when they beheld a hackman whipping up his horses, and, behind the carriage, running with all his might, Don Alonso, dressed in a suit that seemed nothing but rents and tatters.
“Hey, there!” shouted Manuel to him.
Don Alonso turned around, came to a stop and walked back to Jesús and Manuel.
“Where were you bound in such a hurry?” they asked him.