The President was about fifty years old: he was fair and pale, with regular, and not unpleasing, features; the only thing that disfigured his face was a row of huge teeth, which were apt to be uncovered when he smiled; and this he did frequently, not to say incessantly.
"I present my friend, Miguel Rivera, who is now the actual editor of La Independencia."
"I have heard of this gentleman. I am very, very glad to make your acquaintance, Señor Rivera," said the President, shaking hands with exceeding amiability. "You will excuse me a moment, will you not?" he added, touching them both on the shoulder; "I have to speak a few words with these gentlemen.... I will be with you in an instant."
The instant was about half an hour. Miguel had been growing impatient. But the President's courteous reception made him feel better, and inclined him to pardon the delay.
"There," said he, after taking leave of the other gentlemen, "now I am at your service. What can I do for you, friend Mendoza?"
"I wanted to know if you have come to any decision about the district of Serín?"
"What district is that: the one left by General Ríos?" he asked, for a moment ceasing to smile, and fixing his eyes on the window.
"Yes, sir."
"We have not as yet given any thought to the vacant districts. The second elections will not take place for two months at least."
"My friend Rivera, here, has conceived the idea of presenting himself for that district in case the government should favor it."