"This woman," declared El Bizco, "just as you behold her there, beats
them all. Show him what we have in the corner."
"Not now, man."
"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. "And it's all of her own collecting."
"You must have quite a bit of money there."
"Yes. It's worth quite a bit," agreed Dolores. Then she let the strip
of canvas fall into place against the excavation in the wall, fastened
it and drew up the bed before it. El Bizco unbolted the door. In a few
moments there was a knock.
"That must be Vidal," said El Bizco, adding in a low voice, as he
turned to Manuel, "See here, not a word to him."
Vidal strutted in with his carefree air, expressed his pleasure at
Manuel's coming, and the three left for the street.
"Are you going to be around here?" asked the old woman.
"Yes."
"Don't come late, then, eh?" added Dolores, addressing Bizco.
The cross-eyed bully did not deign to make any reply.
The three chums went to the square that faces Toledo bridge; near by,
at a stand owned by Garatusa, a penitentiary graduate who ran a
"fence" for thieves and didn't lose any money at it, they had a drink
and then, walking along Ocho Hilos Avenue they came to the Ronda de
Toledo.
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