FullReads

“And then I heard a sound like somebody ripping a clap-board off of a barn-roof. ‘Twas Hicks laughing for the first time in eight years.”

Sully Magoon paused while the waiter poured us a black coffee.

“Your friend was, indeed, something of a manager,” I said.

“Wait a minute,” said Sully, “I haven’t given you any idea of what he could do yet. That’s all to come.”

“When we got back to New York there was General Rompiro waiting for us on the pier. He was dancing like a cinnamon bear, all impatient for the news, for Denver had just cabled him when we would arrive and nothing more.

“‘Am I elect?’ he shouts. ‘Am I elect, friend of mine? Is that mine country have demanded General Rompiro for the president? The last dollar of mine have I sent you that last time. It is necessario that I am elect. I have not more money. Am I elect, Senor Galloway?’

“Denver turns to me.

“‘Leave me with old Rompey, Sully,’ he says. ‘I’ve got to break it to him gently. ‘Twould be indecent for other eyes to witness the operation. This is the time, Sully,’ says he, ‘when old Denver has got to make good as a jollier and a silver-tongued sorcerer, or else give up all the medals he’s earned.’

“A couple of days later I went around to the hotel. There was Denver in his old place, looking like the hero of two historical novels, and telling ’em what a fine time he’d had down on his orange plantation in Florida.

“‘Did you fix things up with the General?’ I asks him.

“‘Did I?’ says Denver. ‘Come and see.’

“He takes me by the arm and walks me to the dining-room door. There was a little chocolate-brown fat man in a dress suit, with his face shining with joy as he swelled himself and skipped about the floor. Danged if Denver hadn’t made General Rompiro head waiter of the Hotel Brunswick!”

“Is Mr. Galloway still in the managing business?” I asked, as Mr. Magoon ceased.

Sully shook his head.

“Denver married an auburn-haired widow that owns a big hotel in Harlem. He just helps around the place.”