At that very moment two vague shapes materialized on the edge of the firelight glow, almost without a sound—two peons, we saw as soon as they came close, wrapped tightly in their torn blankets. One was an old, wrinkled, bent man wearing homemade sandals, his trousers hanging in rags upon his shrunken legs; the other a very tall, barefooted youth, with a face so pure and so simple as to almost verge upon idiocy. Friendly, warm as sunlight, eagerly curious as children, they came forward, holding out their hands. We shook hands with each of them in turn, greeting them with elaborate Mexican courtesy.
"Good evening, friend. How are you?"
"Very well, gracias. And you?"
"Well, gracias. And how are all your people?"
"Well, thanks. And yours?"
"Well, thanks. What have you of new here?"
"Nada. Nothing. And you?"
"Nothing. Sit down."
"Oh, thanks, but I am well standing."
"Sit down. Sit down."