Elena was propped up with pillows in a deep chair by the window which opened out upon the street. She looked lonely, but when she saw the car sweep along the street and stop at their door, her face beamed happily. There was no jealousy in Elena's heart because her brother was being thus favoured by their uncle.

"Oh, Elena, mia," cried Francisco, throwing his arms about her, and kissing her on each pale cheek. "Do you feel able to take a ride with us this afternoon?"

"I think she is," answered his mother, entering the room, and taking her son into a close embrace. "But how I have missed my NiÑo, Juan," turning to her brother, the Colonel.

"Perhaps I have been selfish in taking him from you, Anita. Shall I leave him here?"

"Ah, no! The lad needs you, Juan. He has no father to teach him as he should be taught. It is the very opportunity for him; and I am most pleased. Only, let me see him often, and I shall be content."

"That you shall, and this afternoon just after mÁte, we will come to take you and Elena with us for a ride. It may bring roses to her cheeks," and he pinched the pale cheeks as he passed her on his way out.

True to their promise, at five o'clock the automobile drew up in front of Francisco's home and the Colonel, himself, carried Elena out to it, and placed her in the nest of pillows on the broad leather seat. Her mother followed and before Elena realized it, they were speeding toward the central part of the city.

"Where does the little White Rose wish to go?" inquired her uncle.

"Oh, anywhere—away from this horrid street. I am so tired of it. If I may, I should love to see the water."

"To the river, Enrique," laughingly ordered her uncle. "Only, the river isn't a very pretty sheet of water. It is so murky, and I think should be called the River of Bronze rather than the River of Silver."

"I know, Uncle Juan; but when I had the fever it was water, water, water I dreamt of, and now I want to see my fill of it."

"That you shall, White Rose, for right here at Buenos Aires the river is over twenty-five miles wide and the city has a frontage of four miles along the waterfront."

They passed through the Plaza Mayo, and Francisco had to tell Elena of having seen el Presidente that morning. Then they turned into the Paseo-de-Julio, a one-sided boulevard facing the river two blocks away. The intervening space was a maze of small plazas where palms, flowers, shrubs and statuary edge the waterfront like a band of solid green. Beyond, before Elena could see the water, were the busy docks, huge masonry basins, where over two thousand ocean-going vessels come and go during the span of a year.

Electric cranes were swinging the great cargoes of wheat and cattle into the yawning holds of the vessels, and on and on the sea of funnels and masts stretched until the muddy line of water at last broke on the sight. Francisco was alert, his brown eyes taking in every detail of the stirring busy scene; but Elena's hungry eyes looked past this to the water beyond.

"Some day, I hope to go away in one of those big vessels," she announced.

"Indeed, and which one will you choose, little White Rose? Here is a wide choice. That large one with the enormous smokestacks and the British flag flying above her, is a Royal Mail Steam-ship from England. One of these leaves every Friday for England, and besides the mail, carries about fifteen hundred passengers. On one of them you would travel in great luxury; electric fans, electric elevators, an orchestra with dances every evening, and dressing for dinner at night. Oh! it's gay enough, the life on those magnificent steamers!

"Then, alongside of it you see a smaller boat, a French liner from Marseilles. They go weekly also, and they bring us our champagne and our opera companies; why, this very automobile came on one of them. There's an Italian liner and just beyond are some German boats. In the South Dock is a river boat that goes up country to Paraguay; our oranges come on those. And all about are smaller boats, some sailing vessels that carry coffee from Brazil, and yellow pine from New Orleans in the United States."

"Why, that one just over yonder flies the Stars and Stripes of North America," cried Francisco, pointing to a small vessel.

"Not exactly, NiÑo. It is from Los Estados Unidos.[9] You must not confound them, for the United States are but a part of North America, although many of our people do not seem to think so. But you do not see many of their flags in our docks. The commercial relations between our two countries are as yet in their infancy. The most of our export and import business is done with Europe."

"Do they not send anything at all down here, but yellow pine, Uncle?" this from Francisco.

"Yes, oh! yes. They are sending us machinery, especially agricultural machinery. When you go with me to the country you will see their wind-mills, steam threshers and binders in great quantities. They send us other machinery, of many kinds, but in comparison with our trade with Germany and England it is very little."

"And do these big ships go back empty to Europe?" inquired Elena, pointing to the long wharves.

"By no means, little girl. See those heavy carts going towards the docks? Well, I don't suppose your young mind can take in the figures, but Francisco will understand, when I tell you, those carts carried one hundred and fifty million bushels of wheat last year to those returning ships, to say nothing of millions of sheep, frozen quarters of beef, wool, cheese and even butter and eggs. Anita," turning to his sister, "I doubt if you, yourself, have ever been to the Barracas, have you?"

"No, Juan. It is so far from the residence district and I never happened to drive that way."

"Then we will ride over there now and let you all see the largest wholesale produce market under one roof that you can find in all the world."

For two miles they sped through narrow streets; past crowded tenements, in front of which scores of dirty children quarrelled and played, and where the peons or working classes huddle, sometimes families of fourteen in one room; past tambos, where the cows and goats stand in sheds, open to the street, awaiting to be milked while the customer waits; past gray spired churches, their wide doors always open, inviting the pious passer-by to enter for prayer; passed fideos factories, where curious shaped macaroni hangs drying in the sun in the open courtyards; on and on they bumped, for the streets here were cobble-stones, until, at last, they reached the vast building covering many acres, where wheat, wool, corn and produce are bought and sold to the foreign trade.

"Were it not so late, we would alight and see it closer. However, Elena could not walk, anyhow. Already, I fear she has had too long a ride for her strength, and we hope not to tire her on this, her first outing; eh, White Rose?" But Elena was fast asleep, her head on her mother's shoulder.

The chauffeur turned the car towards the city, where here and there, in the gathering dusk, an electric light could be seen as if notifying the day, by these advance signals, that its duty was over.

Elena slept on and did not see the wonderful Avenida as they flew along its smooth surface, so like Paris as to seem a bit of that gay city picked up and transferred to American soil; the plane trees bordering it, with here and there a small newspaper kiosk like a miniature temple; the splendid building of "La Prensa," the richest newspaper in the world, where the Buenos Aires public can obtain the services of the best doctors, lawyers, or dentists free of charge; invitingly odorous confectioneries or restaurants with small tables on the sidewalks at which handsomely dressed men and women sit eating and drinking and watching the gay multitude; bewildering shop windows full of the latest Parisian novelties; fruit and flower boys, with their trays of luscious fruits and delicately scented blossoms balanced unaided on their heads; hotels just beginning to glitter with their myriads of electric lights; all of these passed by them as Elena slept the sleep of exhaustion.

Francisco, however, missed none of it, for his was the Latin spirit full of love of pleasure and display, bright lights and gay crowds. His uncle watched him intently from under his heavy brows.

Suddenly a weird, unearthly wail arose above the hum of the traffic all around. Elena started up, frightened and trembling, but, as she had heard it before, she recognized it, and fell back asleep again. Francisco had heard it also, but never so close, it seemed right beside him.

"Uncle, may we not go back by the Prensa building and see what has happened?" he cried excitedly.

The Colonel agreed and Enrique crossed to the other side of the street, entering the long line of vehicles going west, for the "rule of the road" in Argentina is "keep to the left." The hoarse, wailing steam whistle had drawn the crowds towards the handsome building from whose tower it was issuing, and they could not reach it within half a block. Mounted policemen were everywhere trying to disperse the crowd. It was good-natured as any Latin crowd, but refused to be moved; like a hot water bag, it bulged out in one spot when pressed down in another. And all of this—because the bulletin methods of this mighty newspaper are so unusual.

Whenever any unexpected occurrence takes place in Europe or any part of the world this enterprising "daily" apprises the public of it by blowing this stridently piercing steam whistle. It was blown when Queen Victoria passed away; its howl distressed the nervous citizens when San Francisco was almost in ashes, and its present message was that a son and heir had been born to the King and Queen of Spain. This was made known from the front steps of the building and very soon the crowd was a cheering, hat-waving mob. It was momentarily growing more excited and Enrique turned into a side street and sped towards the house in Calle Cerrito, where Elena, now thoroughly aroused by the boisterous tumult about them, could be tucked away into bed.

As Francisco and el Coronel Lacevera sat at dinner that evening discussing the event of the afternoon, while softly gliding servants in quiet livery served them, the Colonel said:—

"Did you know, NiÑo, that every time La Prensa blows that whistle as they did to-day, it costs them three hundred dollars?"

"Why, Uncle Juan, does it use up as much steam as that?" earnestly inquired Francisco.

"Scarcely," laughed the Colonel, as he lifted up an enormous bunch of muscatel grapes, weighing several pounds, from the platter of fruit before him, "scarcely that, NiÑo, but our city government fines them that amount every time they blow it, as they term it a public nuisance. Now, when they want to indulge in this sensational advertising, they send a messenger on to the Commissaria post haste to deposit the fine, timing his arrival just as the last howl of the whistle sounds across the city."