"Sixteen to the doubloon!" cried the new-comer, apparently noways abashed by the contemptuous manner of his reception, as he stepped up to the table, and placed a roll of dollars upon a card.
"No pueden. It cannot be," replied the banker, pushing back the silver with his wooden rake.
"It cannot be," echoed several of the players in the same short contemptuous tone. "Una sociedad con fuero. A private and privileged society."
"Una sociedad con fuero!" repeated the stranger, shaking his head. "All due respect for fueros, so long as they are respected and respectable. But know you not, Señores, that our fuero is the older one?"
"Thy fuero older, gato?" drawled one of the noblemen.
"Ay, truly is it. 'Tis the fuero of the carnival, and dates from the time that Mother Church first fell into her dotage."
"Mother Church in her dotage! Knave, what mean ye?"
"Your Señorias need only look into the street to see what I mean. She has practised folly till she has become a fool. 'Tis just like the mother country, who has drunk Mexican blood till she has grown bloodthirsty."
The young cavaliers became suddenly attentive.
"Paz! Señor;" said the banker, "such words are dangerous. Begone, in God's name, and beware of the alguazils and the Cordelada."[12]