In a lunch-room that sheltered a few tables beneath its roof
were Vidal and Bizco in company of a group of idlers playing cane.
"Hey, you, Vidal!" shouted Manuel.
"The deuce! Is it you?" exclaimed his cousin.
"As you see...."
"And what are you doing?"
"Nothing. And you?"
"Whatever comes our way."
Manuel watched them play cane. After they had finished a hand, Vidal
said:
"What do you say to a walk?"
"Come on."
"Are you coming, Bizco?"
"Yes."
The three set out along the Andalucia road.
Vidal and Bizco led a thieves' existence, stealing here a horse
blanket, there the electric bulbs of a staircase or telephone wires;
whatever turned up. They did not venture to operate in the heart of
Madrid as they were not yet, in their opinion, sufficiently expert.
Only a few days before, told Vidal, they had, between them, robbed a
fellow of a she-goat, on the banks of the Manzanares near the Toledo
bridge. Vidal had entertained the chap at the game of tossing coins
while Bizco had seized the goat and pulled her up the slope of the
pines to Las Yeserias, afterward taking her to Las Injurias. Then
Vidal, indicating the opposite direction to their dupe, had shouted:
"Run, run, there goes your goat." And as the youth trotted off in the
direction indicated, Vidal escaped to Las Injurias, joining Bizco and
his sweetheart.
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