niform should now be put away, and
Cristobal should wear civilian clothes."

"He certainly will," I answered, laughing. And Colonel O'Donnel gave
himself up to directing Dick which way to go, as we were in the most
crowded centre now, close to the Puerta del Sol.

This big, open space, shaped like a parallelogram, walled by hotels,
Government buildings, and shops, struck me as a Spanish combination of
Piccadilly Circus and the Mansion House, thrown into one. Ten busy streets
poured their traffic into the place; intricate lines of tramways converged
there. The pavements were crowded with loungers who had the air of never
doing anything but lounge, and wait for excitements. There was much coming
and going of leisurely pedestrians, talking and laughing, all classes
mingling together; men in silk hats on the way to their clubs chatting
with men in _capas_ and grey sombreros, who belonged to very different
clubs; smart officers in uniform shoulder to shoulder with bull-fighters
whose little twisted pigtails of black hair appeared under their tilted
hats; ragged but handsome beggars thinking themselves as good, if not as
fortunate, as their brothers in broadcloth; merry boys shouting the
evening papers, black-eyed women and men selling cheap but colourful
jewelry, post-cards, toys, and marvellous sweets. It was as gay a scene as
could be found in any capital, and it seemed to me that this absolute
democracy was after all the true note of modern Spain. Whatever else we
may be, we never have been, never will be a nation of snobs, we Spaniards
whose favourite saint is the peasant Isidro.

Steering cautiously through the throng which scarcely troubled itself to
move before us, we took one of the main arteries leading out from the
Puerta del Sol (where no sign of a gate was to be seen), and turned into
the deep blue shadows of the Calle Echegaray to our hotel.

Already I had discovered that it is not the habit of Spanish landlords to
descend from the important first floor to the unimportant ground floor and
welcome their guests. They are glad to have you come if you choose, but
they do not care if you stop away, for there are plenty of others; and
whether you are cousin to the King of England or an American millionaire,
or a Spanish commercial traveller, very timid and just starting in
business, you will be given the same reception, unless you put on "proud
airs," when you will be shown that you had better go elsewhere. But with