office. He voluntarily promised to bring it to the bank at one o'clock,
when I hastened to meet him. At that hour every one was out at lunch; I
came again at four, when everybody had returned, but the letter was not
delivered; at five, just before the bank closed, the letter, which had
now grown from a _carta_ to a _cartela,_ was still on its way. I left
San Sebastian without it; and will it be credited that when it was
forwarded to me a week later at Madrid it proved the most fatuous
missive imaginable, wholly concerning the writer's own affairs and none
of mine?

I cannot guess yet why it was withheld from me, but since the incident
brought me that experience of Spanish politeness, I cannot grieve for
it. The young banker who left his region of high finance to come out and
condole with me, in apologizing for the original refusal of my letter,
would not be contented with so little. Nothing would satisfy him but
going with me, on my hinted purpose, and inquiring with me at the
railroad office into the whole business of circular tickets, and even
those kilometric tickets which the Spanish railroads issue to such
passengers as will have their photographs affixed to them for the
prevention of transference. As it seemed advisable not to go to this
extreme till I got to Madrid, my kind young banker put himself at my
disposal for any other service I could imagine from him; but I searched
myself in vain for any desire, much less necessity, and I parted from
him at the door of his bank with the best possible opinion of the
Basques. I suppose he was a Basque; at any rate, he was blond, which the
Spaniards are mostly not, and the Basques often are. Now I am sorry,
since he was so kind, that I did not get him to read me the Basque
inscription on the front of his bank, which looked exactly like that on
the bank at Bayonne; I should not have understood it, but I should have
known what it sounded like, if it sounded like anything but Basque.