"So this is Mexico?" I repeated.
The station building beside me was little more than a wooden shack. Its door was closed. There was a sort of ticket wicket opening at the side, but it too was closed.
But as I spoke thus aloud, the wicket opened. There appeared in it the head and shoulders of a little wizened man, swarthy and with bright eyes and pearly teeth.
He wore a black velvet suit with yellow facings, and a tall straw hat running to a point. I seemed to have seen him a hundred times in comic opera.
"Can you tell me when the next train—?" I began.
The little man made a gesture of Spanish politeness.
"Welcome to Mexico!" he said.
"Could you tell me—?" I continued.
"Welcome to our sunny Mexico!" he repeated—"our beautiful, glorious Mexico. Her heart throbs at the sight of you."
"Would you mind—?" I began again.