a look at the afflicted country. ’Twas a dark blue one, on the west coast, about the size of a special delivery stamp.
“‘From what the General tells me,’ says Denver, ‘and from what I can gather from the encyclopedia and by conversing with the janitor of the Astor Library, it ’ll be as easy to handle the vote of that country as it would be for Tammany to get a man named Geoghan appointed on the White Wings force.’
“‘Why don’t General Rumptyro stay at home,’ says I, ‘and manage his own canvass?’
“‘You don’t understand South American politics,’ says Denver, getting out the cigars. ‘It’s this way. General Rompiro had the misfortune of becoming a popular idol. He distinguished himself by leading the army in pursuit of a couple of sailors who had stolen the plaza—or the carramba, or something belonging to the government. The people called him a hero and the government got jealous. The president sends for the chief of the Department of Public Edifices. ‘‘Find me a nice, clean adobe wall,” says he, “and stand Señor Rompiro up against it. Then call out a file of soldiers and—then let him be up against it.” Something,’ goes on Denver, ‘like the way they’ve treated Hobson and Carrie Nation in our country. So the General had to flee. But he was thoughtful enough to bring along his roll. He’s got sinews of war enough to buy a battleship and float her off in the christening fluid.’
“‘What chance has he got to be president?’
“‘Was n’t I just giving you his rating?’ says Denver.
