desert. But frankly, I think you should do the explaining
first. I can't understand how a man who was correspond-
ent of a Government newspaper during the Madero re-
gime, and later editorial writer on a Conservative jour-
nal, who denounced us as bandits in the most fiery ar-
ticles, is now fighting on our side."

"I tell you honestly: I have been converted," Cervantes
answered.

"Are you absolutely convinced?"

Solis sighed, filled the glasses; they drank.

"What about you? Are you tired of the revolution?"
asked Cervantes sharply.

"Tired? My dear fellow, I'm twenty-five years old and
I'm fit as a fiddle! But am I disappointed? Perhaps!"

"You must have sound reasons for feeling that way."

"I hoped to find a meadow at the end of the road. I
found a swamp. Facts are bitter; so are men. That bitter-
ness eats your heart out; it is poison, dry rot. Enthu-
siasm, hope, ideals, happiness-vain dreams, vain dreams.
. . . When that's over, you have a choice. Either you
turn bandit, like the rest, or the timeservers will swamp
you. . . ."