Later
I went out to Chapultepec with N. and Courts. I wanted to show Courts the administrative tableau set in the morning beauty of the park, and N. had urgent business with the President. There was the usual array of autos there, the President in his own, talking with de la Lama, Minister of Finance. Afterward Hohler, Manuel del Campo, and the two García Pimentel men, black-clad, came up, having been to the honras of Ignacio Algara, brother of the Mexican chargé in Washington. They were going to have a sandwich, and asked Courts and me to go into the restaurant, which we did. N. appeared a few minutes later, the President with him. The much-advertised copitas were immediately served, the President scarcely touching his glass. After much badinage between Huerta and N. the jeunesse dorée looking on rather embarrassed, Huerta departed, with an obeisance to me, and a large, circular gesture to the others. He had a telegram from Ciudad Porfirio Diaz, telling of immense losses of the rebels and of the Federals still holding their ground—which may or may not be true. The little story I paste here is indicative of Mexicans in general, and of the situation in particular:
The safest bet regarding the many stories about Torreon yesterday, was the answer of a Mexican mozo to his master’s query as to whether it would rain. After a careful survey of the heavens Juan replied: “Puede que si, o puede que no, pero lo mas probable es, quién sabe?” (Perhaps it will—perhaps it won’t; but the most probable is “who knows?”)