xx Argentina

world then, strange fascinating lands back in us, did us revel in our exotic spenders, come with us as we head for our port of call. Once again let us listen in fancy to the wind in the rigging and the gurgle of grey green water as its lips passed our radio steamers sides. For many days our course is along the coast of

South America until resting the current of the mighty Rio de Pater we approach our journey's end. Before us the white buildings of Buenos Aires materialized as We thread our way through the maze of shipping in the river.

Two sturdy tubs puff out to meters. In a few moments they have a safely docked and we descend the gangplank. A step and we are in the Argentine. That's it. That's it. Not a red ticket, not a red ticket.

By today, perhaps fortune was my own ticket. Well, sure at last. Come on, dear. Let's get out of this town. Let's see. It's everything you want. I speak English too good. I am very clever, no?

Well, let us hope so. Here's the address of our hotel. Can you take us there? Cece, and you're like the wind! Ah, I'm in need of them. Myo, Cece! Buenos Aires, the greatest city of the Argentine, the Paris of South America.

On all sides we see the fruits of the country's vast wealth, the beautiful opera, the houses of Congress, the spacious, pre-lined boulevards rivaling the Chaunsé Lise itself. Before us near the Plaza San Joaquin, on the Avenito de Mayo is the home of the president, the Casar Rosita.

Casar Rosita, the pink house. So crowded because of its color. As in Washington, D.C., 7,000 miles to the north, the home of the chief executive is known as the White House. Over this great city of more than two million souls, though continuously the clean winds of the pumper.