Before entering on my more serious labors, I recall an amusing incident in which Pomposo figures as principal. Like all the other hotels at the capital, the San Carlos is kept on the European plan, which made it necessary for guests to pass through an open patio to the restaurant. On one occasion, when going down to dinner, I encountered Pomposo at the head of the stairway. He came rapidly toward me, flourishing his arms, as if the house were on fire or Popocatapetl had made a fresh outbreak, and almost out of breath, exclaimed: "Porfirio! Porfirio! Porfirio!"
"Who is Porfirio? and what is the matter?" I asked. Completely overcome, he sat down, and, not comprehending my lack of understanding, continued breathlessly: "In the grand dining-room down stairs, Porfirio has sixteen friends; they are eating; hush! Do you not hear the music?" I still asked to be enlightened as to the august Porfirio, whose name had cast a spell on Pomposo.
"Do you not know General Porfirio Diaz, our President?" And without waiting for an answer, added, "Don't go down till later, por Dios Santo!"
THIS HOTEL."
