"Our beautiful Mexico, torn and distracted as she is, greets you. In the name of the de facto government, thrice welcome. Su casa!" he added with a graceful gesture indicating the interior of his little shack. "Come in and smoke cigarettes and sleep. Su casa! You are capable of Spanish, is it not?"
"No," I said, "it is not. But I wanted to know when the next train for the interior—"
"Ah!" he rejoined more briskly. "You address me as a servant of the de facto government. Momentino! One moment!"
He shut the wicket and was gone a long time. I thought he had fallen asleep.
But he reappeared. He had a bundle of what looked like railway time tables, very ancient and worn, in his hand.
"Did you say," he questioned, "the interior or the exterior?"
"The interior, please."
"Ah, good, excellent—for the interior." The little Mexican retreated into his shack and I could hear him murmuring, "For the interior, excellent," as he moved to and fro.
Presently he reappeared, a look of deep sorrow on his face.
"Alas," he said, shrugging his shoulders, "I am desolado! It has gone! The next train has gone!"