* * * * *
This afternoon I went to San Sebastian to buy paper and salicylate of
soda, which is less agreeable.
A number of public guards were riding together in the car on the way
over, along the frontier. They were discussing bull fighters, El Gallo
and Belmonte, and also the disorders of the past few days.
"Too bad that Maura and La Cierva are not in power," said one of them,
who was from Murcia, smiling and exhibiting his decayed teeth. "They
would have made short work of this."
"They are in reserve for the finish," said another, with, the solemnity
of a pious scamp.
Returning from San Sebastian, I happened on a family from Madrid in the
same car. The father was weak, jaundiced and sour-visaged; the mother
was a fat brunette, with black eyes, who was loaded down with jewels,
while her face was made up until it was brilliant white, in colour like
a stearin candle. A rather good looking daughter of between fifteen and
twenty was escorted by a lieutenant who apparently was engaged to her.
Finally, there was another girl, between twelve and fourteen, flaccid
and lively as a still-life on a dinner table. Suddenly the father, who
was reading a newspaper, exclaimed:
"Nothing is going to be done, I can see that; they are already applying
to have the revolutionists pardoned.
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