CHAPTER VII 
In the City op Goyaz 
T HERE was no such thing as an hotel in the Goyaz 
capital. The nearest approach to it was a filthy 
rest-house for muleteers, which was, furthermore, 
already full. Against my usual custom—as I never, 
unless absolutely necessary, make use of the credentials I 
carry for my private needs—I had, therefore, to apply 
to the Presidente or Governor of the province to find some 
sort of accommodation in the town for my animals, men, 
and myself. 
“Take off your spurs before you enter!” roughly 
shouted a sentry at the Governor’s palace, a huge barn¬ 
like structure, just as I was stooping to do that before 
being asked. 
“ Do not stand on the pavement,” said the sentry 
again, anxious to display his authority. 
Being a law-abiding person, I shifted to one side. 
“ Do not stop under the Presidente’s window! ” cried 
the policeman angrily once more, digging me in the ribs 
with his bayonet. 
I was beginning to be sorry I had not brought an 
aeroplane with me in order to complete my toilet in the 
air before entering so sacred a precinct, but patience 
being one of my chief virtues, I transferred myself to the 
remotest point across the square, where, stork-like, upon 
one foot at a time I was able — this time undisturbed — 
to remove both spurs. 
“ Take off your hat before entering,” again shouted 
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