Cries are heard, "On the white!" "On the white!" while some other voice answers, "On the red!" The odds are on the white, he is the favorite; the red is the "outsider," the _dejado_.
Members of the Civil Guard move about in the crowd.

They are not dressed in the uniform of that meritorious corps, but neither are they in civilian costume.

Trousers of _guingon_ with a red stripe, a camisa stained blue from the faded blouse, and a service-cap, make up their costume, in keeping with their deportment; they make bets and keep watch, they raise disturbances and talk of keeping the peace.
While the spectators are yelling, waving their hands, flourishing and clinking pieces of silver; while they search in their pockets for the last coin, or, in the lack of such, try to pledge their word, promising to sell the carabao or the next crop, two boys, brothers apparently, follow the bettors with wistful eyes, loiter about, murmur timid words to which no one listens, become more and more gloomy and gaze at one another ill-humoredly and dejectedly.

Lucas watches them covertly, smiles malignantly, jingles his silver, passes close to them, and gazing into the _Rueda_, cries out: "Fifty, fifty to twenty on the white!" The two brothers exchange glances.
"I told you," muttered the elder, "that you shouldn't have put up all the money.

If you had listened to me we should now have something to bet on the red." The younger timidly approached Lucas and touched him on the arm.
"Oh, it's you!" exclaimed the latter, turning around with feigned surprise.