Short Fiction by O. Henry (librera reader txt) 📕

a dozen moving-picture shows. But I thought, of course, it was a cannibal suburb, and I was wondering whether I was to be served with carrots or mushrooms. And, as I say, this dressed-up man sits beside me, and we become friends in the space of a minute or two. For an hour we talked, and he told me all about it.

“It seems that he was a man of parts, conscientiousness, and plausibility, besides being educated and a wreck to his appetites. He told me all about it. Colleges had turned him out, and distilleries had taken him in. Did I tell you his name? It was Clifford Wainwright. I didn’t exactly catch the cause of his being cast away on that particular stretch of South America; but I reckon it was his own business. I asked him if he’d ever been second cook on a tramp fruiter, and he said no; so that concluded my line of surmises. But he talked like the encyclopedia from ‘A⁠–⁠Berlin’ to ‘Trilo⁠–⁠Zyria.’ And he carried a watch⁠—a silver arrangement with works, and up to date within twenty-four hours, anyhow.

“ ‘I’m pleased to have met you,’ says Wainwright. ‘I’m a devotee to the great joss Booze; but my ruminating facilities are unrepaired,’ says he⁠—or words to that effect. ‘And I hate,’ says he, ‘to see fools trying to run the world.’

“ ‘I never touch a drop,’ says I, ‘and there are many kinds of fools; and the world runs on its own apex, according to science, with no meddling from me.’

“ ‘I was referring,’ says he, ‘to the president of this republic. His country is in a desperate condition. Its treasury is empty, it’s on the verge of war with Nicamala, and if it wasn’t for the hot weather the people would be starting revolutions in every town. Here is a nation,’ goes on Wainwright, ‘on the brink of destruction. A man of intelligence could rescue it from its impending doom in one day by issuing the necessary edicts and orders. President Gomez knows nothing of statesmanship or policy. Do you know Adam Smith?’

“ ‘Lemme see,’ says I. ‘There was a one-eared man named Smith in Fort Worth, Texas, but I think his first name was⁠—’

“ ‘I am referring to the political economist,’ says Wainwright.

“ ‘S’nother Smith, then,’ says I. ‘The one I speak of never was arrested.’

“So Wainwright boils some more with indignation at the insensibility of people who are not corpulent to fill public positions; and then he tells me he is going out to the president’s summer palace, which is four miles from Aguas Frescas, to instruct him in the art of running steam-heated republics.

“ ‘Come along with me, Trotter,’ says he, ‘and I’ll show you what brains can do.’

“ ‘Anything in it?’ I asks.

“ ‘The satisfaction,’ says he, ‘of redeeming a country of two hundred thousand population from ruin back to prosperity and peace.’

“ ‘Great,’ says I. ‘I’ll go with you. I’d prefer to eat a live broiled lobster just now; but give me liberty as second choice if I can’t be in at the death.’

“Wainwright and me permeates through the town, and he halts at a rum-dispensary.

“ ‘Have you any money?’ he asks.

“ ‘I have,’ says I, fishing out my silver dollar. ‘I always go about with adequate sums of money.’

“ ‘Then we’ll drink,’ says Wainwright.

“ ‘Not me,’ says I. ‘Not any demon rum or any of its ramifications for mine. It’s one of my non-weaknesses.’

“ ‘It’s my failing,’ says he. ‘What’s your particular soft point?’

“ ‘Industry,’ says I, promptly. ‘I’m hardworking, diligent, industrious, and energetic.’

“ ‘My dear Mr. Trotter,’ says he, ‘surely I’ve known you long enough to tell you you are a liar. Every man must have his own particular weakness, and his own particular strength in other things. Now, you will buy me a drink of rum, and we will call on President Gomez.’ ”

III

“Well, sir,” Trotter went on, “we walks the four miles out, through a virgin conservatory of palms and ferns and other roof-garden products, to the president’s summer White House. It was blue, and reminded you of what you see on the stage in the third act, which they describe as ‘same as the first’ on the programs.

“There was more than fifty people waiting outside the iron fence that surrounded the house and grounds. There was generals and agitators and épergnes in gold-laced uniforms, and citizens in diamonds and Panama hats⁠—all waiting to get an audience with the Royal Five-Card Draw. And in a kind of a summerhouse in front of the mansion we could see a burnt-sienna man eating breakfast out of gold dishes and taking his time. I judged that the crowd outside had come out for their morning orders and requests, and was afraid to intrude.

“But C. Wainwright wasn’t. The gate was open, and he walked inside and up to the president’s table as confident as a man who knows the head waiter in a fifteen-cent restaurant. And I went with him, because I had only seventy-five cents, and there was nothing else to do.

“The Gomez man rises from his chair, and looks, colored man as he was, like he was about to call out for corporal of the guard, post number one. But Wainwright says some phrases to him in a peculiarly lubricating manner; and the first thing you know we was all three of us seated at the table, with coffee and rolls and iguana cutlets coming as fast as about ninety peons could rustle ’em.

“And then Wainwright begins to talk; but the president interrupts him.

“ ‘You Yankees,’ says he, polite, ‘assuredly take the cake for assurance, I assure you’⁠—or words to that effect. He spoke English better than you or me. ‘You’ve had a long walk,’ says he, ‘but it’s nicer in the cool morning to walk than to ride. May I suggest some refreshments?’ says he.

“ ‘Rum,’ says Wainwright.

“ ‘Gimme a cigar,’ says I.

“Well, sir, the two talked an hour, keeping the generals and equities all in their good uniforms waiting outside the fence. And while I smoked, silent, I listened to Clifford