Wainwright, with his brains, got a whole country out of trouble
and on its feet; but what could he do for himself? And without any
special brains, but with some nerve and common sense, I put him on his
feet because I never had the weakness that he did--nothing but a cigar
for mine, thanks. And--"
Trotter paused. I looked at his tattered clothes and at his deeply
sunburnt, hard, thoughtful face.
"Didn't Cartright ever offer to do anything for you?" I asked.
"Wainwright," corrected Trotter. "Yes, he offered me some pretty good
jobs. But I'd have had to leave Aguas Frescas; so I didn't take any of
'em up. Say, I didn't tell you much about that girl--Timotea. We rather
hit it off together. She was as good as you find 'em anywhere--Spanish,
mostly, with just a twist of lemon-peel on top. What if they did live in
a grass hut and went bare-armed?
"A month ago," went on Trotter, "she went away. I don't know where to.
But--"
"You'd better come back to the States," I insisted. "I can promise you
positively that my brother will give you a position in cotton, sugar, or
sheetings--I am not certain which.
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