To add to
this deafening roar of cries and shouts, two organs pierced the air
with the merry wheeze of their blending, interweaving tones.
Manuel, El Bizco and Vidal strolled to the head of El Rastro and
turned down again. At the door of Las Americas they met Pastiri
sniffing around the place.
Catching sight of Manuel and the other two, the fellow of the three
cards approached and said:
"Shall we have some wine?"
"Sure."
They entered one of the taverns of the Ronda. Pastiri was alone that
day, as his companion had gone off to the Escorial; since he had no
one to act as his confederate in the game he hadn't made a centimo.
Now, if they would consent to act as bait to induce the inquisitive
onlookers to play, he'd give them a share of the profits.
"Ask him how much?" said El Bizco to Vidal.
"Don't be an idiot."
Pastiri explained the matter for El Bizco's benefit; the confederates
were to place bets and then proclaim in a loud voice that they had
won. Then he'd see to making the spectators eager to play.
"All right. We know what to do," said Vidal.
"You agree to the scheme?"
"Yes, man."
Pastiri gave them three pesetas apiece and the four left the tavern,
crossed the Ronda and made their way in the crowds of El Rastro.
Every once in a while Pastiri would stop, thinking he had caught sight
of a prospective dupe; El Bizco or Manuel would place a bet; but the
fellow who looked like an easy victim would smile as he saw them lay
the snare or else pass on indifferently, quite accustomed to this type
of trickery.
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