"Now it's my turn, Niño! Can you bound the Argentine Republic?"
Francisco began in the sing-song manner of the Spanish schools:—"On the north by Paraguay, Bolivia and Brazil, on the west and south by Chile; on the east by Brazil, Uruguay and the Atlantic Ocean. Its area is one million, one hundred and eighteen thousand square miles and its population is over six million. It is—"
"There! There!" exclaimed his uncle, laughingly. "You may stop. No telling how long you could sing the praises of your native land. I want to tell you a few things that you may not have learned. Do you know what alluvial soil is?"
"It sounds like some metal," ventured the boy.
"But it isn't. You see, Argentina was once part of the ocean bed; for under the soil, way back in the interior of the country, I, myself, have found shells and gravel. This long level stretch of land between the Atlantic Ocean and the foothills of the Andes, that was once covered with water, is now called the Pampas; and you are now in that region.
"See that long, coarse grass stretching as far as the eye can reach; it is the finest pasture land in the world and explains why we produce such quantities of cattle, sheep and horses. You see, having this excellent pasture-land, so well watered, and a climate that insures grazing the whole year through, our expenses for raising and rearing cattle are very low. We are a larger country than we appear on the map, my boy. Why! we are twelve times as large as Great Britain."
"Uncle, as we have so many things that are the largest and best in the world, tell me, is this the longest railroad on the earth?"
"No, Niño, not quite that. Our railroads are developing our country at a rapid rate and we have some of the finest road beds in the world, but that is because our country is so level. Now that I think of it, we have got something connected with railroads that is interesting. We have the longest straight stretch of railway in the world, it is said. On the Argentine Pacific Railway from Buenos Aires to the Andes it runs like a surveyor's line two hundred and eleven miles without deviating a foot. But come, let us go into the dining car for breakfast; it is already half-past eleven."
This was Francisco's greatest surprise of all in a long list of the day's surprises. To eat in a railway car, speeding fifty miles an hour, with delicate china and napery, shining silver and food like he had been having daily at his uncle's table, seemed too wonderful to be true.