Part 30 (1/2)
The Orphan, biting away at his slice of bread, interrupted the speech of the lady in the coach, shouting ironically:
”Give me a slice to take away my toothache!”
”And another one to me!” added Manuel.
The husband of the speechmaker, an old fellow wearing a very long raglan and standing amidst the crowd of spectators listening with the greatest respect to what his better half was saying, grew indignant and speaking but half Spanish, cried:
”If I catch you your teeth'll ache for fair.”
”This gentleman came from Archipipi,” interrupted the Orphan.
The old codger tried to catch one of the urchins. Manuel and the Orphan ran off, dodging the man in the raglan and planting themselves opposite him.
”Impudent rascals,” shouted the gentleman. ”I'll give you a hiding and maybe your teeth won't really ache by the time I'm through with you.”
”But they hurt already,” chorused the ragam.u.f.fins.
The old fellow, exasperated beyond endurance, gave frantic chase to the urchins; a group of idlers and news-vendors jostled against him as if by accident, and the pursuer, perspiring freely and wiping his face with his handkerchief, went off in search of an officer.
”Fakir, froggie, beggar!” shouted the Orphan derisively at him.
Then, laughing at their prank, they returned to the barracks and took place at the end of a line composed of poverty-stricken folk and tramps who were waiting for a meal. An old woman who had already eaten lent them a tin in which to place their food.
They ate and then, in company of other tattered youngsters climbed the sandy slopes of San Blas hill to get a view from that spot of the soldiers on Atocha avenue.
Manuel stretched out lazily in the sun, filled with the joy of finding himself absolutely free of worriment, of gazing upon the azure sky which extended into the infinite. Such blissful comfort induced in him a deep sleep.
When he awoke it was already mid-afternoon and the wind was chasing dark clouds across the heavens. Manuel sat up; there was a knot of gamins close by, but the Orphan was nowhere to be seen.
A dense black cloud came up and blotted out the sun; shortly afterward it began to rain.
”Shall we go to Cojo's cave?” asked one of the boys.
”Come on.”
The entire band of ragam.u.f.fins broke into a run in the direction of the Retiro, with Manuel hard after them. The thick raindrops fell in slanting, steel-hued lines; a stray sunbeam glittered from the sky through the dark violet clouds which were so long that they looked like huge, motionless fishes.
Ahead of the ragam.u.f.fins, at an appreciable distance, ran two women and two men.
”They're Rubia and Chata with a couple of hayseeds,” said one of the gamins.
”They're running to the cave,” added another.
The boys reached the top of the hill; before the entrance to the cave, which was nothing but a hole dug out of the sand, sat a one-legged man smoking a pipe.
”We're going in,” announced one of the urchins to Cojo.
”You can't,” he replied.
”And why not?”