'Buenos!' said Cogan also to
him. 'Not bad--no.' said Ferrero very well pleased.
"But the great thing was to come. 'El matador, el matador! Torellas,
Torellas,' they were shouting. And again Torellas came. He crossed the
ring, with his even, unhurried walk to Cogan's place of refuge, and
asked for his cape--'You will allow me--please--yes? Gracias, senor,'
and, with the one word 'Americano,' and a nod of his head toward Cogan,
Torellas held the cape to the nearest section of American blue-jackets
who had been wondering, ever since the word had been passed, which was
the American among the bull-fighters. Cogan, of course, was dressed like
any other bull-fighter, and being dark-haired and pretty well tanned
wasn't to be picked out easily, especially as he buried himself to the
eyes in his place of refuge. He didn't want to be recognized--not then,
and so he stayed hid away, and so it was Ferrero, in the same refuge
with Cogan, but looming above him, who was cheered by the many
blue-jackets for their countryman. And Ferrero gleefully bowed and bowed
again to their applause.
"Torellas wrapped the cape around his left forearm. He then took from an
attendant and gripped in his right hand the espada, the short sword,
with which he was to give the bull the finishing stroke.
"Now, to Cogan's way of thinking, Ferrero and the other banderilleros
took a chance when they placed their beribboned stakes, but they had the
length of their stakes the start of the bull, and they did not have to
linger over doing it.
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