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Updated: May 9, 2025
"Have another glass!" "I'm not old. I'm no older than the rest of you, and neither will I have another glass," retorted Miguel hotly, greatly irritated by the others' laughter. "Ah!" he continued, wagging his head, and in a tone of bravado and offended dignity, "you think I can't get home alone, do you? I'll show you that Miguel Torreno is still as young as the rest of you!"
"Had the house been as large as the plaza and the price of the seats doubled, there would not have been standing room left to accommodate the spectators." "Aye!" broke in Miguel Torreno, a dark, wizened old Mexican with a face resembling a monkey's, "they say a thousand people were turned away at the doors." "A thousand?
And supporting himself with one hand on the table and the other on his stick, he rose from his seat with great difficulty. "Miguel Torreno old, is he? A thousand devils!" A chorus of laughter greeted this last outburst as he turned unsteadily and swaying to and fro, slowly made his way through the crowd toward the door. Just then a man at the next table rose with an oath.
Early that morning, Miguel Torreno while beating his mule, had been kicked half way across his corral by that stubborn though sensible animal, breaking Miguel's right arm and fracturing three of his ribs.
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