"Uncle Juan, why is it that most of these street peddlers are Italians? See, there goes an onion-man with his long strings of onions, their stalks knit together into yard lengths; there is a vegetable cart; there is a vender of fruit, and all of them speaking broken Spanish with an Italian accent."
"Yes, Niño, most of the peddlers are Italian. I do not know why, unless it is that each nationality turns to a special kind of work in this world. The Italians are naturally merchants, they like to bargain. They are also very fine mechanics. Did you ever notice that our plasterers, or masons, who plaster the outside and inside of all our houses, speak Italian?"
"And that group of men on the corner, see, Uncle, they are all dressed alike, and must be of the same nationality; what are they?"
"Those"—indicating half a dozen men wearing full trousers held up by red sashes, adorned with dozens of coins, their heads covered with round full caps also red. "Those are Basques or Vascongados. There are many here, and they come from a small piece of country to the west end of the Pyrenees, in Spain, bordering the Bay of Biscay. Like the Italians, they, too, follow the work best suited to them, and they are mostly porters, because of their physical strength and powers of endurance.
"I have noticed, too, that the majority of our milk men are Basques, and I account for that because in their native home they are a pastoral people and such pursuits attract them. Listen as we pass: their language is unintelligible to us although they come from Spain. It is unlike any other European language."
They were now entering the great square called Plaza Mayo. It is the heart of the city, although it is not in the centre. It covers about ten acres, and is two blocks back from the muddy La Plata River; and scores of masts and smoke-belching funnels of great ocean vessels can be seen from its benches.
"That is our Government House. That much I know," said Francisco, pointing to the rose-tinted building, modelled after the Tuileries, and facing the plaza. From its rear to the river intervened grass plots and groves of sturdy palmettoes.
"Yes, that is where our Senate convenes and where all the business of the Republic is done. The President has his offices there, and all the public receptions are held there. You see, our government does not provide a home for our President; that, he must look after himself. Why, we are just in time to see His Excellency now."
There was a clatter of hoofs under the wide porte-cochere and a smart closed coupe drew up before the side entrance. The liveried footman with a cockade of blue and white (the Argentine colours) in his high hat sprang to the ground and opened the door. A man, slightly above the usual Argentine height, quite handsome, with pure Castilian features, and dressed in afternoon garb of tall silk hat and frock coat, got out, and walked spryly up the wide stone steps, past the sentries in scarlet and green, into the vestibule.
"Do you know him, Uncle Juan?" asked Francisco, with awe in his voice.