When several gauchos are galloping over
the plain, chasing horses, hunting or marking cattle, the one who is
head of the gang shouts his directions at the top of his voice.
Probably in this way the habit of shouting at all times by landowners
and persons in authority had been acquired. And so it pleased us very
much when Don Ventura came one evening to see my father and consented
to sit down to partake of supper with us. We loved to listen to his
shouted conversation.
My parents apologized for having nothing but cold meats to put before
him - cold shoulder of mutton, a bird, and pickles, cold pie and so on.
True, he replied, cold meat is never or rarely eaten by man on the
plains. People do have cold meat in the house, but that as a rule is
where there are children, for when a child is hungry, and cries for
food, his mother gives him a bone of cold meat, just as in other
countries where bread is common you give a child a piece of bread.
However, he would try cold meat for once. It looked to him as if there
were other things to eat on the table. "And what is this?" he shouted,
pointing dramatically at a dish of large, very green-looking pickled
peaches.
