CHAP: I. BEGINNINGS OF A BULL-FIGHT.
It was the Sunday after Easter, and the last bull-fight of the season in Mexico City. Four special bulls had been brought over from Spain for the occasion, since Spanish bulls are more fiery than Mexican. Perhaps it is the altitude, perhaps just the spirit of the western Continent which is to blame for the lack of “pep,” as Owen put it, in the native animal.
Although Owen, who was a great socialist, disapproved of bull-fights, “We have never seen one. We shall have to go,” he said.
“Oh yes, I think we must see it,” said Kate.
“And it’s our last chance,” said Owen.
Away he rushed to the place where they sold tickets, to book seats, and Kate went with him. As she came into the street, her heart sank. It was as if some little person inside her were sulking and resisting. Neither she nor Owen spoke much Spanish, there was a fluster at the ticket place, and an unpleasant individual came forward to talk American for them.
It was obvious they ought to buy tickets for the “Shade.” But they wanted to economise, and Owen said he preferred to sit among the crowd, therefore, against the resistance of the ticket man and the onlookers, they bought reserved seats in the “Sun.”
The show was on Sunday afternoon. All the tram-cars and the frightful little Ford omnibuses called Camions were labelled Torero, and were surging away towards Chepultepec. Kate felt that sudden dark feeling, that she didn’t want to go.
“I’m not very keen on going,” she said to Owen.
“Oh, but why not? I don’t believe in them on principle, but we’ve never seen one, so we shall have to go.”
Owen was an American, Kate was Irish., “Never having seen one” meant “having to go.” But it was American logic rather than Irish, Kate only let herself be overcome.
Villiers of course was keen. But then he too was American, and he too had never seen one, and younger, more than anybody he had to go.
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