They still throw the bull in Mexico, but neither so far nor so much. Instead, the populace prefers to spend its leisure hours at the movies where the sun is not so ponetrating and where opportunities for prolonged siestas are even more numerous. Six times--gloats the statistician--six times as much money is spent annually in Mexico for the moving pictures as for arena exhibitions. And what does this portend? Are the Mexicans losing their sporting blood that they are now content to sit drowsily in darkened room whereas they were wont to eat bananas and throw the skins at toreadors? In other words--where is their manhood?

There is small need for alarm Mexico still swarms with dark virile men who love nothing better than mixtures of blood and sand. But, alas, bulls come dear in this era--and seats for the slaughter must rise accordingly. The cinema is cheaper. Therefore the Mexican morale breaks down to the extent of deserting the bull fights for the inexpensive but amusing movies. The national hero is transformed from the person of the most efficient bull artist to that of the reigning screen star, be it man, woman, child or horse. For those who dance must pay the piper, quoth the penurious Juan, and bathing beauties cost less than bulls.