"To the river, Enrique," laughingly ordered her uncle. "Only, the river isn't a very pretty sheet of water. It is so murky, and I think should be called the River of Bronze rather than the River of Silver."
"I know, Uncle Juan; but when I had the fever it was water, water, water I dreamt of, and now I want to see my fill of it."
"That you shall, White Rose, for right here at Buenos Aires the river is over twenty-five miles wide and the city has a frontage of four miles along the waterfront."
They passed through the Plaza Mayo, and Francisco had to tell Elena of having seen el Presidente that morning. Then they turned into the Paseo-de-Julio, a one-sided boulevard facing the river two blocks away. The intervening space was a maze of small plazas where palms, flowers, shrubs and statuary edge the waterfront like a band of solid green. Beyond, before Elena could see the water, were the busy docks, huge masonry basins, where over two thousand ocean-going vessels come and go during the span of a year.
Electric cranes were swinging the great cargoes of wheat and cattle into the yawning holds of the vessels, and on and on the sea of funnels and masts stretched until the muddy line of water at last broke on the sight. Francisco was alert, his brown eyes taking in every detail of the stirring busy scene; but Elena's hungry eyes looked past this to the water beyond.
"Some day, I hope to go away in one of those big vessels," she announced.
"Indeed, and which one will you choose, little White Rose? Here is a wide choice. That large one with the enormous smokestacks and the British flag flying above her, is a Royal Mail Steam-ship from England. One of these leaves every Friday for England, and besides the mail, carries about fifteen hundred passengers. On one of them you would travel in great luxury; electric fans, electric elevators, an orchestra with dances every evening, and dressing for dinner at night. Oh! it's gay enough, the life on those magnificent steamers!
"Then, alongside of it you see a smaller boat, a French liner from Marseilles. They go weekly also, and they bring us our champagne and our opera companies; why, this very automobile came on one of them. There's an Italian liner and just beyond are some German boats. In the South Dock is a river boat that goes up country to Paraguay; our oranges come on those. And all about are smaller boats, some sailing vessels that carry coffee from Brazil, and yellow pine from New Orleans in the United States."
"Why, that one just over yonder flies the Stars and Stripes of North America," cried Francisco, pointing to a small vessel.
"Not exactly, Niño. It is from Los Estados Unidos.[9] You must not confound them, for the United States are but a part of North America, although many of our people do not seem to think so. But you do not see many of their flags in our docks. The commercial relations between our two countries are as yet in their infancy. The most of our export and import business is done with Europe."