“What do you say, Jamieson?” He turned to the young newspaper man. “Got any ideas?”
“Only those that we talked over at Wells Fargo’s yesterday.” Walker Jamieson assumed a mysterious air.
“Oh, that, that has to wait until the afternoon,” Adair MacKenzie looked mysterious too.
“Then we might just explore the city, take the buses and street cars and find out how the natives get around. We might let the girls get a glimpse of The Cathedral, one of the most important in all of the Americas. It was built over the old Aztec Templo Mayor and it took two and a half centuries to build.”
“Two and a half centuries to build a church!” Laura exclaimed.
“What can you expect?” Adair MacKenzie asked in a tone that indicated he was not the least bit surprised, “of a nation that has ‘mañana’ for its motto?”
Walker Jamieson laughed heartily at this. “Well, maybe you are right,” he admitted, “but I don’t think you’ll find your interpretation in any guidebook. They say merely that the Indians contributed a third of the cost and all the work and that ‘many died each day due to the long hours of unaccustomed strenuous work.’”
“That’s right, they’ll never admit they are wrong,” Adair shook his head as though this fact grieved him deeply. “Never be afraid, you Nan,” he pointed his finger sternly at his young cousin, “to admit you are wrong. Best medicine in the world. If you are wrong say so. It’s good for you.” Adair MacKenzie had a habit of talking thus in circles, agreeing with himself over some great truth. Now he nodded his head with great satisfaction as though he himself made a practice of admitting his mistakes.
Walker looked at Alice. Alice looked at Walker. They both laughed. Both knew that the old man had never in his life admitted that he had made a mistake. Both at this moment thought him charming and lovable.
“Well, shall we leave The Cathedral out then?” Walker Jamieson was always willing to give in in little particulars. “There’s plenty else to see, palaces, parks, markets. Why, there’s a whole new city to explore.”