Part 10 (1/2)
He got up and approached the bar and the crowd followed him, and soon every one was supplied with some kind of beverage.
”Here's to Thatcher and Slade! May they represent s...o...b..rgh honorably in the Cubapines and show 'em what s...o...b..rghers are like,” said Jackson, elevating his iced c.o.c.ktail.
The health was heartily drunk.
”And here is to that distinguished officer, Captain Jinks. Long may he wave!” cried old Reddy.
”Speech, speech!” exclaimed the convivial crowd.
”Gentlemen,” responded Sam, ”I am a soldier and not an orator, but I am proud to have my name coupled with those of your honored fellow townsmen. It is a sign of the greatness of our country that men of just the same character are in all quarters of this mighty republic answering their country's call. Soon we shall have the very pick of our youth collected on the sh.o.r.es of these ungrateful islanders who have turned against their best friends, and these misguided people will see for themselves the fruits of our civilization as we see it, in the persons of our soldiers. Permit me in responding to your flattering toast to propose the names of Mr. Reddy and Mr. Tucker as representatives of an older generation of patriots whose example we are happy to have before us for our guidance.”
This, Sam's first speech, was received with great applause, and then Josh Thatcher proposed three cheers for Captain Jinks, which were given with a will. The only perverse spirit was that of the commercial traveler, who had sat in the corner reading an old copy of the s...o...b..rgh _Herald_, and now on hearing the cheers, took a candle and went upstairs to bed.
”That man's no good,” said Reddy with a shake of his head. While the whole company were expressing their concurrence with this sentiment, Sam bade them good-night and took his leave.
CHAPTER VI
Off for the Cubapines
[Ill.u.s.tration]
By the next morning's mail Sam's commission arrived, and with it orders to report at once at the city of St. Kisco, whence a transport was about to sail on a date which gave Sam hardly time to catch it. He must hurry at once to town and get his new uniforms for which he had been fitted the week before, and then proceed by the fastest trains on the long journey to the distant port without even paying his parents a farewell visit. He found Cleary busily engaged in making his final arrangements, and persuaded him to cut them short and travel with him.
Sam had hardly time to take breath from the moment of his departure from s...o...b..rgh to the evening on which he and Cleary at last sat down in their sleeping-car. His friend heaved a deep sigh.
”Well, here we are actually off and I haven't got anything to do for a change. This is what I call comfort.”
”Yes,” said Sam, ”but I wish we were in the Cubapines. This inaction is terrible while so much is at stake. It's a consolation to know that I am going to help to save the country, but it is tantalizing to wait so long. Then in your own way you're going to help the country too,” he added, thinking that he might seem to Cleary to be monopolizing the honors.
”I'll help it by helping you,” laughed Cleary. ”I've got another contract for you. You see the magazines are worth working. They handle the news after the newspapers are through with it, and they don't interfere with each other. So I got permission to tackle them from _The Lyre_, and I saw the editor of _Scribblers' Magazine_ yesterday and it's a go, if things come out as I expect.”
”What do you mean?” asked Sam.
”Why, you are to write articles for them, a regular series, and the price is to be fixed on a sliding scale according to your celebrity at the time of each publication. It won't be less than a hundred dollars a page, and may run up to a thousand. It wouldn't be fair to fix the price ahead. If the articles run say six months, the last article might be worth ten times as much as the first.”
”Yes, it might be better written,” said Sam.
”Oh, I don't mean that. But your name might be more of an ad. by that time.”
”I've never written anything to print in my life,” said Sam, ”and I'm not sure I can.”
”That doesn't make any difference. I'll write them for you. You might be too modest anyhow. I can't think of a good name for the series. It ought to be 'The Autobiography of a Hero,' or 'A Modern Was.h.i.+ngton in the Cubapines,' or something like that. What do you think?”
”I'm sure I don't know,” said Sam. ”I must leave that to you. They sound to me rather too flattering, but if you are sure that is the way those things are always done, I won't make any objection. You might ask Mr. Jonas. Where is he?”
”He's going on next week. He's the greatest fellow I ever saw.
Everything he touches turns to gold. He's got his grip on everything in sight on those blessed islands already. He's scarcely started, and he could sell out his interests there for a cold million to-day. It's going to be a big company to grab everything. He's called it the 'Benevolent a.s.similation Company, Limited'; rather a good name, I think, tho perhaps 'Unlimited' would be nearer the truth.”
”Yes,” said Sam. ”It shows our true purposes. I hope the Cubapinos will rejoice when they hear the name.”