Argosy, Vol. 85, No. 3 — page 15: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

AMERICANS cheered the passing of Girton’s official automobile; periodically the papers had lauded him, and resolutions had been passed commending his work; invariably his lightest wish had been respected by Guanama’s lawmakers—and he _ was human. ‘‘ There is an answer, senor?” asked the messenger. “You bet there’s an answer!” the retired secretary of war cried. “ You tell your rat-faced little president to go to the devil and find some one else who'll give—* ‘¢ Steve!’ Hemmett cut in sharply. “It may not be dignified, but I’ve ceased to be an official, and I don’t have to be dignified!”? Girton snapped. ‘ I’m not in love with myself, but I know what I’ve done with this army business! If I’d been asked to resign in the usual way, I’d have called it politics and resigned and charged it up to the justly celebrated ingratitude of republics. But this ¢hing’s simply a statement that I am dismissed and that my tenure of office comes to an end when I’ve read this letter.” “ Altara himself wrote that?” Hem- mett cried in amazement. ‘With his own hand. I have seen it, senor,” the messenger broke in placidly. Stephen Girton looked him up and down. “You go back and tell him that I’ve resigned,” he said bitterly. “ And if you want to go by the door instead of being kicked over the edge of this terrace, go quick! I don’t like your face, and I’m mad!” The little white-clad man vanished. Hemmett laughed annoyedly. ‘ That was childish, Steve.” ‘‘ Maybe so,” snorted the ex-secretary. “Tt wasn’t the job itself. We have plenty of money; you know that. It was the idea of the thing and the way he did it and the infernal thanklessness of the whole proposition, and—and—its queerness! ”’ Hemmett nodded. “That’s what impressed me first,” he AFTER ALL. 357 said. “Only yesterday the Novedades had an editorial on the possibility of a new cabinet, and mentioned the impos- sibility of getting a secretary of war in Guanama who could even continue your work and—” Once more he stopped, for once more his little butler was approaching. “The Senor Enrico Ricoro!” he an- nounced. ‘To see you both, senores!” Together, Girton and Hemmett gazed at the butler. ‘““The—the rich Ricoro?” the latter asked. “ The tobacco Ricoro?” “The same, senor.” ‘““Send him out here, then,’ Hemmett directed, and, when they were alone again, directed a puzzled little smile at his old friend. “‘ That’s about the queer- est thing of the day, isn’t it—this call? I supposed that Ricoro was in the deadly enemy class?” “He has been ever since the mess when we tried to merge his tobacco interests with ours,” Girton muttered. ‘It can’t be two weeks ago that he gave out an interview to the effect that the Ricoro combine would never touch— * Psst!” Ricoro was with them—not the ugly, grunting little Guanaman millionaire of the past, with every penny of his wealth tied up in tobacco-leaves, and his ego swollen to several times its normal size, but an oily, bowing person who beamed pleasure unutterable! He held out his hands, and Girton and Hemmett shook them wonderingly. He drew up another of the wicker chairs and proffered his case of really remarkable cigars. He rubbed his hands happily and lunged into the business of the moment— itself an unusual performance in Guana- man commercial circles, which savor of the Orient in most things. | “You are astonish that I come?” he chuckled. “ Pero—one makes mistakes —yes? I have been in some things fool- ish. It is to forgive—no?”’ “ Consider yourself forgiven, Ricoro,” Hemmett said curiously. ‘“ Pardon me, comicloool C©