MEXICO: New President, Old Job

After the motorcade had passed, the sad-faced peons stood in little clumps for hours, looking like bunches of dry cactus blossom in their earthy blues, reds, yellows, talking of the parade of the Señor Henry Wallace. They said that he was of much sympathy, a plougher of ground like themselves, a gringo with the proper sort of gentle eyes. They put too much emphasis on his first name, for he spoke a kind of Spanish and they supposed that like Hispano-Mexicans he used both parents' names, Henry for his father, Wallace after his...

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