104 
RUBBER PLANTING ON THE 
There were, for example, first, second, and third class cars, with no Pull- 
mans. The first class car might have been a baggage car for all the 
luggage that the passengers had, and it might have been a smoking car 
for the way in which both sexes smoked cigarettes; indeed, it might 
have been a barroom for the way that the train boy served native cognac 
and beer. My seatmate, a powerful Swede, appreciated some of these 
Providences more than I did. As he was interested in rubber planting, 
and particularly as he understood Spanish, we became quite friendly, and 
before I knew it he was taking my trip right out of my hands. He ver- 
bally hustled me through Mexico, and by this time would have, had me 
in Patagonia, had I not put on the brakes. 
The first part of my journey from the city, the road ran through 
enormous maguey plantations, from which Mexico’s national drink, the 
STREET SCENE IN CORDOBA 
pulque, is drawn. Then, after miles of dusty plain, the road (near Esper- 
anza) runs close to the mountain side, disclosing, some four thousand 
feet below, the little native village of Maltrata. Zigzagging round the 
mountain, tunneling through projecting rocks, clinging to the edge of 
awful precipices, the train curves and slides, until it finally gets down to 
the plain, and the powerful double-headed locomotive which held it back 
stops with a veritable sigh of relief. 
Leaving Maltrata, the course still contiues down hill, following the 
windings of a mountain stream some hundreds of feet below, until we 
finally sight Orizaba, clothed in eternal snow, lifting its head high above 
all surrounding peaks, and to my mind far more beautiful and impressive 
than Popocatepetl or its sister summit, over which tourists rave. After 
