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Updated: June 8, 2025
Behind the structure that looked like a convent they came upon some shanties furnished with filthy, grimy mats: African huts built upon a framework of rough sticks and cane. Bizco went into one of these hovels and returned with a piece of cod in his hand. Manuel was overcome by a horrible fear. "I'm going," he said to Vidal. "What do you mean!..." exclaimed one of the gang ironically.
Every once in a while Pastiri would stop, thinking he had caught sight of a prospective dupe; El Bizco or Manuel would place a bet; but the fellow who looked like an easy victim would smile as he saw them lay the snare or else pass on indifferently, quite accustomed to this type of trickery. Soon Pastiri noticed a group of rustics with their broad hats and short trousers.
"If by any accident we should be surprised, we mustn't run; we've got to stick right in the house." El Bizco burst into laughter; Manuel, who knew that his cousin wasn't talking just for the sake of hearing his voice, asked: "Why?"
Fine pots, all right!" "Then why do you call them puchereras?" "Becau " added the urchin, and he made a coarse gesture. "Because they're a sly bunch," stammered Bizco. "You're awful simple." Manuel contemplated Bizco scornfully, and asked his cousin: "Do you mean to say that those little girls...?" "They and their mothers," answered Vidal philosophically. "Almost all of 'em that live here."
Manuel knocked, but Dolores refused to open the door; finally, after hearing the boy's explanations, she allowed him to come in. Dolores' home consisted of a room about three metres square; in the rear could be made out a bed where El Bizco was sleeping in his clothes, beside a sort of vaulted niche with a chimney and a tiny fireplace.
Vidal did not dare to jump down with the bundle in his hands; so he threw it carefully upon some bushes; as it fell, only the barometer broke; the rest was already broken. El Bizco and Vidal then jumped down and the three associates set out on a cross-country run, pursued by the canine defender of private property, who barked at their heels. "What damned fools we are!" exclaimed Vidal, stopping.
One day he met, near the Segovia bridge, El Bizco and another ragamuffin that was with him. They were both in tatters; El Bizco looked grimmer and more brutish than ever.
Bizco stared closely at Manuel, and seeing that Manuel, on his side, was observing him calmly, averted his gaze. Bizco's face possessed the interest of a queer animal or of a pathological specimen. His narrow forehead, his flat nose, his thick lips, his freckled skin and his red, wiry hair lent him the appearance of a huge, red baboon.
"And why not?" "Suppose some one should come?" "I'll bolt the door." "All right." El Bizco bolted the door. Dolores pushed the table to the middle of the room, went over to the wall, pulled away a scrap of kalsomined canvas about a yard square, and revealed a gap crammed with ribbons, cords, lace edging and other objects of passementerie. "How's that?" said El Bizco.
The lower floor of the house consisted of a vestibule, which formed the bottom of a staircase leading to a corridor, and two rooms whose balconies overlooked the orchard. The first thing that came to Manuel's head was to open the lock of the door that led to the road. "Now," said El Bizco to him, after admiring this prudent precaution, "let's see what there is in the place."
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