of the hacienda of Pancho Nogales! Hot bouillon! That was some bungalow, I'll tell the squint-eyed world! Rare paintin's, tapestries, books, statues, rugs, furniture, antiques or what have you, filled every nook and corner. All me and Ptomaine could do was stand pop-eyed, but Kid Roberts, which knows all about that kind of stuff, praised Pancho for his taste in this and his judgment in that till Pancho was all swelled up like a boil. The last thing we seen was a vault with all the bars in the world across the doors. Pancho made much to do about this, leadin' us there with great caution, and Ptomaine's face brightened. The big fellow smacked his lips, thinkin' he was prob'ly on the brinks of shakin' hands with some first-class champagne or the like. But Pancho dashed his fond hopes by explainin' that the vault contained a fortune in gold which the Government had allowed him to keep as part of the bargain which retired him from the pleasin' and profitable occupation of banditry. Pancho said we'd hear more about that gold later. We did— Leapin' Tuna, I'll say we did!
About this time Maida joined us and we sit down to a wow of a lunch, featured by the repeated regrets of Pancho that the authorities had stopped the championship fight between Kid Roberts and Bob Young, which he'd looked forward to seein' for months. No kiddin', from the way he moaned over it you'd think he was one of the promoters!
But it was after we had pushed back our chairs from the table that Pancho played his ace. Over some wonderful coffee and marvelous cigars, Maida and Kid
