"Do you mean Woodrow Wilson?"
"Yes, Huedro Huilson, president—de jure—of the United States."
"Oh," I said. "Now I understand. And when will there be a de facto train?"
"At any moment you like," said the little official with a bow.
"But I don't see—"
"Pardon me, I have one here behind the shed on that side track. Excuse me one moment and I will bring it."
He disappeared and I presently saw him energetically pushing out from behind the shed a little railroad lorry or hand truck.
"Now then," he said as he shoved his little car on to the main track, "this is the train. Seat yourself. I myself will take you."
"And how much shall I pay? What is the fare to the interior?" I questioned.
The little man waved the idea aside with a polite gesture.