The meal over, Senor Ignacio, Leandro, Vidal and Manuel
went out to the gallery to have a nap while the women remained inside
gossiping.
All the neighbours had brought their sleeping-mats out, and in their
undershirts, half naked, some seated, others stretched out, they were
dozing on the galleries.
"Hey, you," said Vidal to Manuel. "Let's be off."
"Where?"
"To the Pirates. We meet today. They must be waiting for us already."
"What do you mean,--pirates?"
"Bizco and the others."
"And why do they call 'em that?"
"Because they're like the old time pirates."
Manuel and Vidal stepped into the patio and leaving the house, walked
off down Embajadores lane.
"They call us the Pirates," explained Vidal, "from a certain battle of
stones we had. Some of the kids from the Paseo de las Acacias had got
some sticks and formed a company with a Spanish flag at the head; then
I, Bizco, and three or four others, began to throw stones at them and
made them retreat. The Corretor, a fellow who lives in our house, and
who saw us chasing after them, said to us: 'Say, are you pirates or
what? For, if you're pirates you ought to fly the black flag. Well,
next day I swiped a dark apron from my father and I tied it to a stick
and we got after the kids with the Spanish flag and came near making
them surrender it.
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