"Gone! When?"
"Alas, who can tell? Yesterday, last month? But it has gone."
"And when will there be another one?" I asked.
"Ha!" he said, resuming a brisk official manner. "I understand. Having missed the next, you propose to take another one. Excellent! What business enterprise you foreigners have! You miss your train! What do you do? Do you abandon your journey? No. Do you sit down—do you weep? No. Do you lose time? You do not."
"Excuse me," I said, "but when is there another train?"
"That must depend," said the little official, and as he spoke he emerged from his house and stood beside me on the platform fumbling among his railway guides. "The first question is, do you propose to take a de facto train or a de jure train?"
"When do they go?" I asked.
"There is a de jure train," continued the stationmaster, peering into his papers, "at two p.m. A very good train—sleepers and diners—one at four, a through train—sleepers, observation car, dining car, corridor compartments—that also is a de jure train—"
"But what is the difference between the de jure and the de facto?"
"It's a distinction we generally make in Mexico. The de jure trains are those that ought to go; that is, in theory, they go. The de facto trains are those that actually do go. It is a distinction clearly established in our correspondence with Huedro Huilson."