SPAIN: Wedding Guest

A high-powered car purred through the forest of Fuente de la Teja. Reclining in the tonneau were a stiff young fellow in military trimmings, and a cadaverous-faced, hook-nosed individual with all the bored air of a man of the world. King Alfonso was going to visit the new water works which are to supply Madrid.

Presently their car purred into a clearing, where huts huddled under the black boughs, and many-colored peasants basked in the sun. The car stopped. The astounded dozers found themselves basking in their monarch’s smile.

“What goes on?” demanded the king. “Where is the hand-organ

I hear? And why do I hear this laughter?”

A weathered peasant fingered his hat.

“So please your Majesty, there’s a wedding in the inn.”

The King descended from his car and in a moment stood in the inn doorway. The company within sat transfixed, then stumbled to their feet. The grinning bride began to blush, the bridegroom, a lusty bricklayer, began to stammer.

A red-faced fellow who was shouting, choked on a half-uttered piece of ribaldry.

The King laughed. A peasant woman shoved a bench towards him. He sat down. The bridegroom called loudly for the innkeeper.

“Champagne for His Majesty.”

“No, no,” said the King. “Vin ordinaire like the rest of you. Sit down everybody.”

The innkeeper bustled up and filled a glass. The bridegroom offered him a cheap cigar. With commendable presence of mind, the King lit it. The wedding party whispered and grinned inanely. The King’s aide hovered in the background.

Presently the King rose.

“I must be going. Let me kiss the bride.”