“And how are the latest reports?” asked Mr. Martinez.
“I have been assured the support of every bishop in the states that once were a part of long-lost Mexico.”
“Our power—I mean the power of the Church, as wielded in the nineteenth-century Mexico, is only known by reading history,” said Mr. Martinez.
“I see where you are correct, my friends. The relations must be severed. The civil law must be revised. It is sad, sad, sad to see the poor, downtrodden priests, poorly fed, poorly dressed—those, I mean, who have to depend upon the church only for support. They struggle bravely on and uncomplainingly, hoping and praying, no doubt, to regain the long-lost power they had over the people during the life of Pope Leo XIII.”
“Quite true;” replied Don Enrique Arellano, wiping a tear from his eye, “quite true. Then the priests were clad in purple and fine linen; then they received fifteen dollars for every marriage ceremony they performed—now only one; then the many feast days brought them thousands of centavos; now they are so few that the increase in the church treasury is hardly perceptible. The people are too much enlightened in the ways of the evil world, and not enough in the ways of the church, or, I would better say, this Government does not teach them submission—there is no head. Each goes his own way; each thinks for himself; hence the priest has lost his power, and I say it must be recovered,” vigorously concluded Mr. Arellano.
“Let us drink to the health and wealth of the priests, and to the recovery of your long-lost Mexico,” said Leo Leander, evidently hoping to spring something new on them.
The three actors passed into a bar near by, out of sight of the three scientists in the cab.
“So much has transpired since we stopped in front of this drug store, it seems to me that it must be night,” said the Governor.
“On the other hand,” replied Julio, “the time is only ten minutes later than the moment we arrived here.”
“Shall we proceed to the tomb of Marriet Motuble?” asked Señor Guillermo Gonzales, with a smile.