"It looks out of place here, José, among all these enormous freight steamers. What does it carry?"
"Willow, Señorito, and see, there are others coming down the river. It goes to Buenos Aires to be made into charcoal, the principal fuel of that city. Great quantities of it are raised above here; it is quick of growth and needs only to be planted so," and José demonstrated by taking a short twig and sticking it into the earth.
"Behold! and in seven years, it is as you see it there on the rafts ready for market. They use the twigs for making Osier baskets. But hace calor[13] let us go to the cool shady patio of the hotel and there I will tell you a story of some charcoal burners until the Uncle comes."
But the Colonel reached the hotel before they did, for Francisco must stop to see this thing and that as they sauntered along. The mid-day heat meant little to him while so much of novelty challenged his attention. José was always ready to answer his questions, and he frequently drew the boy's notice to something that would escape any one but a keen observer, and this the Indian was.
The sun was almost in midheaven, and the daily siesta was beginning in some parts of the city. Workshops were being closed, and under every tree some cart driver had drawn up his horse and stretched himself on the grass under its shade; even the beggars were curled up on the church steps fast asleep.
"Why do some of those ragged beggars wear metal badges, José?"
"They are licensed beggars, Señorito. The city has authorized them to beg, and when you help them you may know you are helping no rogues."
Francisco drew his nose up into a prolonged sniff. "I believe I'm hungry, José. What smells so good?"
"Step here on to this side street and I'll show you."
The street was being torn up to be repaved, and the peon workingmen at this noon interval of rest were eating their almuerzo. Gathered in little groups, they sat around something that was cooking and emitting odours of stewing meat, potatoes and onions.