At 11.20, the first youth fell. He detached himself from the onlookers and—accompanied by a companion who carefully showed his neutrality by a super-nonchalance of manner—followed one of the damsels around and around the square, affecting a melting expression of countenance, and beseeching her with melancholy eyes for a backward glance. The girl’s companions nudged her and giggled; the girl herself pretended to be unaware that she was followed; but the flush heightened in her cheeks, and her eyes sparkled.
At 11.59, the families reassembled, and moved homeward, each a parade by itself. The enamored youth gazed in the proper affectation of despair after his departing maiden, and gave an imitation of a candle that has been extinguished.
At 12.00, Werner announced that the bench-slats had stamped him with an accordion-pleated design, and left us.
At 12.01, two surviving señoritas—the two of the 9.49 episode—stopped at our bench, and seated themselves coyly at the far end.
At 12.02, a boy sold us three bags of peanuts for a nickel.
At 12.04, not knowing what to do with the third bag of peanuts, I offered it to the señoritas, and was rewarded with a “Gracias” which could not have been sweeter had the offering been a five-pound upholstered box of the most expensive chocolates.
At 12.05, the observations inscribed in my now-faded notebook during those first vestiges of Anglo-Saxon energy, appear for some reason to have ceased.
IV
As I recall that first conversation with Herminia and Lolita, it ran somewhat as follows:
Were we from the United States? Ay, what a wonderful country must be the United States! How they would love to go to a land where women enjoyed such freedom! And American men respected women more than did the Mexicans. But how long were we remaining in Mazatlán? So short a time! Why did we not stay longer? Did we not think Mexican girls as attractive as American girls? Ay, but we were very polite to say such nice things! Still, did we not have wives at home? Not even sweethearts? No? Then why should one be in such haste to leave Mazatlán? Ay, Dios! The cathedral clock was striking twelve and a half, and their family would scold them for lingering so long! But they came to the plaza every evening at eight. Yes, always at eight. Adios! And again muchas gracias for the peanuts!