"Wake yourself, Niño. We are in Rosario; come, follow me."
Francisco followed him through the long hall of the compartment car out into the big station where insistent porters and shouting cab-men made frantic grabs at them and their baggage, only to be beaten off by José, whose language as he scolded and berated them was not what is known as "polite Spanish."
Selecting a victoria from the long line of waiting ones, they entered, José sitting with the driver, and were soon before the lighted portals of a large hotel.
The building was two stories in height and perfectly square; the second story bed-rooms all opened on to a porch or corridor, which ran completely around and overlooked the central court on the first floor. The entrance was very imposing with marble staircases and marble pillars; and Francisco's sleepy eyes opened wide in astonishment. They were just in time for dinner; already the marble tables in the patio were filling with men and women sipping their afterdinner coffee in the cool open air.
As this was Francisco's first dinner in a hotel it might be interesting to know what he ate. Being an Argentine, he always ate several different kinds of meat, and began this meal with a platter of cold meats: tongue, pressed chicken and jellied veal. Second, a vermicelli soup with grated cheese; third, fried pejerey, the most popular fish of the country; fourth, partridge fried in oil; fifth, asparagus with melted butter; sixth, macaroni with tomato and garlic sauce; seventh, roast mutton; eighth, a salad of lettuce and tomatoes; ninth, a sweet jelly in wine sauce; tenth, fruits; and then they adjourned to the patio for coffee.
While his uncle smoked and talked with friends, whom he had chanced to meet, Francisco slipped away and José helped him undress for bed, as he was very tired.
He remembered no more after José turned off the electric light until he opened his eyes into the full glare of the sun, the next morning. It was nine o'clock and José was laying out clean linen for him. After a refreshing shower bath, he returned to his room to find his rolls and coffee on a table beside his bed.
"Why, José, I'm not a lady that I must have my café in bed!" exclaimed the lad. "Mother and the girls always do that, but I'm a man and I want to have mine in the dining-room with Uncle Juan."
José explained that in hotels one must always take one's morning coffee in one's rooms; and he talked on while Francisco ate and dressed.
"El Coronel will be busy all of the day and he has placed you in my hands. Rosario, I know like a book, and together we will see it."