Manuel did so, and to add to the delay, the waiter said that the supper would be some time in coming.
While the soldier conversed with Calatrava, Manuel observed the latter closely.
Calatrava was a rare specimen, appearing at first sight almost ludicrous; he had a wooden leg, a very narrow face, as dry and black as a smoked fish; two or three scars graced his forehead; his moustaches were stiff and his hair kinky. He wore a bright-coloured suit with very wide trousers and reeled along on his natural leg as well as on his artificial; his jacket was short, somewhat darker than his trousers; his cravat was of red and his straw hat tiny.
In a beery voice Marcos ordered a few glasses. They drank them down, and soon a dandy came in, wearing yellow shoes, a derby and a silk handkerchief around his neck.
At sight of him, Manuel cried out:
“Vidal! Is that you?”
“Yes, my boy. What are you doing here?”
“Do you know this young man?” asked Calatrava of Vidal.
“Yes. He’s a cousin of mine.”