'Al juego, caballeros!' cries the dealer, and everybody accordingly stakes his money. Satisfied that the four cards are not equalised, the dealer, by a dexterous turn of the wrist, reverses the pack, by which means the bottom card is exposed. If this card does not pair with one of those on the table, other cards are slowly revealed, till one of the four on the table has been 'casado' or paired. The nine of spades being drawn, pairs with the nine of clubs on the table. The banker consequently pays on this card, and receives on that which lies by its side. The other two cards are similarly disposed of, and this, with a few variations, constitutes the game.
With the exception of 'el rey' (the king) and 'la zota' (the knave), a Spanish pack of cards differs considerably from the French or English pack. There are no tens, to begin with, consequently the total number of cards is forty-eight. The queen is also absent. Her majesty is, however, represented by 'el caballo,' a figure of a knight on horseback. Clubs (called 'bastos') are veritable clubs of the Hercules pattern; and a spade is not a spade in this instance, but it is an 'espada,' or sword of the approved shape. Each player has a favourite card, upon which he invariably stakes his money whenever it is turned up in the course of the game. Tunicú's 'winning' colour is 'el caballo' (horse and rider). Bimba swears by the king, while his neighbour, Don Vicente, has a partiality for the royal fives of every suit. These gentlemen are fond of apostrophising the cards of their selection, as if to encourage the pasteboard to win. Thus, Tunicú not unfrequently addresses his caballo as a 'noble animal' or a 'trusty steed,' while Bimba speaks of 'el rey' as a 'right royal gentleman' and a 'just sovereign.' But when, as it too often happens, 'el caballo' proves faithless, and 'el rey' unprofitable, their praises are no longer sung, but certain disrespectful adjectives are applied to them. The Spanish language is rich in oaths, the mildest of which are some of those expressions which begin with the syllable 'Car,' such, for example, as 'Caramba!' 'Carambóla!' (the billiard cannon), 'Caracóles!' (shells), and 'Caracolito!' (a small shell).
One of the greatest gamblers at the Philharmonic is Don Vicente. Tunicú tells me, sotto voce, that the old gentleman has had a run of ill-luck for the past fortnight, and that, having exhausted all his ready cash, he is about to wager his 'quitrin' and horses. If the five of swords on the table is not paired in the next draw, Don Vicente will lose his equipage. The next 'turn up' being a king, and a king being opposed to the five of swords, Don Vicente loses.
'Watch the old man now,' whispers Tunicú. I glance in the direction indicated by my companion, and observe that the gambler's right hand, which for some minutes past had been concealed beneath his shirt-front, is drawn with violence across his breast.
'A habit of his when he loses an important amount,' remarks Tunicú under his breath; 'the old fellow has torn his bare flesh.'
Except ourselves, no one present has paid the least regard to the unfortunate gamester, for until the past fortnight Don Vicente had been usually lucky.
While the dealer is in the act of shuffling a bran-new pack as a preliminary to the fiftieth game to-night, the cards suddenly fall from his fingers, and he, his partner, together with the rest of the company, turn deadly pale and rush wildly to the broad balcony.
I follow them; though for the moment I am unable to account for this strange diversion in the proceedings. In another instant, however, the truth flashes across me. The apartment which we have deserted had, for a few seconds only, oscillated as if a thousand ghosts were dancing in the empty saloons adjoining, or as if a train were passing beneath the floor.
From the balcony I observe that the dark streets are already crowded with people, most of whom are scantily clothed in night attire. Some are kneeling and praying aloud for Misericordia! others are shrieking and invoking a variety of saints, and the greatest confusion prevails.
It was only a 'temblor,' or shock of earthquake, in its mildest form, but it may be the precursor of a more serious disaster.