"Yes, sir! I made the doggondest strike up there you ever saw! It's all on the ground. Come over here and look at this!"
To which the answer is likely to be:
"No, I haven't time."
The Denver Club is a central rallying place for the successful business men of the city. It is a splendid club, with the best of kitchens, and cellars, and humidors. All over the land I have met men who had been entertained there and who spoke of the place with something like affection.
One night, several weeks after we had left Denver, we were at the Bohemian Club in San Francisco, and fell to talking of Denver and her clubs.
"It was in a club in Denver," one man said, "that I witnessed the most remarkable thing I saw in Colorado."
"What was that?" we asked.
"I met a former governor of the State there one night," he said. "We sat around the fire. Every now and then he would hit the very center of a cuspidor which stood fifteen feet away. The remarkable thing about it was that he didn't look more than forty-five years old. I have always wondered how a man of that age could have carried his responsibility as governor, yet have found time to learn to spit so superbly."