"We have neither water nor cakes."
"I'm quite sure you will be able to find some," I replied, placing a half-piastre in his hand.
"Almost immediately the foliage was pushed aside."
The Indian took off his straw hat, scratched his forehead, and then, placing two fingers in his mouth, whistled a prolonged note. Almost immediately the foliage was pushed aside, and a boy about fifteen years old, wearing nothing but a pair of drawers, made his appearance, and halted, as if terrified at the sight of us.
"Run to the hut, and ask for cakes and some capsicums, and bring them here," said the wood-cutter, in the Aztec language.
"It's quite needless," I replied, in the same idiom; "we can breakfast much more comfortably in the hut."
The wood-cutter looked at me in artless admiration, then taking my hand, placed it on his breast. I spoke his language, and I was therefore his friend. This is a feeling common to all men, whatever may be their nationality or social position.