"I," answered El Pastiri. "I want Paloma over here."
"Ah!... You? Well, there's nothing doing," declared Valencia.
"I said I want Paloma over here," repeated Pastiri, without looking at
the bully.
The latter pretended not to have heard. The card-sharper, provoked by
this discourtesy, got up and, slapping Valencia's sleeve with the back
of his hand, he repeated his words, dwelling upon every syllable:
"I said that I wanted Paloma, and that these friends of mine want to
talk with the lady."
"And I tell you that there's nothing doing," answered the other.
"Those gentlemen want to talk with her."
"All right.... Then let them ask my permission."
Pastiri thrust his face into the bully's, and looking him straight in
the eye, croaked:
"Do you realize, Valencia, that you're getting altogether too damned
high and mighty?"
"You don't say!" sneered Valencia, calmly continuing his game.
"Do you know that I'm going to let you have a couple with my fist?"
"You don't say!"
Pastiri drew back with drunken awkwardness and began to hunt in the
inside pocket of his coat for his knife, amidst the derisive laughter
of the bystanders. Then all at once, with a sudden resolve, Leandro
jumped to his feet, his face as red as flame; he seized Valencia by
the lapel of his coat, gave him a rude tug and sent him smashing
against the wall.
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