“‘I’m pleased to have met you,’ says Wainwright. ‘I’m a devotee to the great joss Booze; but my ruminating facilities are unrepaired,’ says he—or words to that effect. ‘And I hate,’ says he, ‘to see fools trying to run the world.’
“‘I never touch a drop,’ says I, ‘and there are many kinds of fools; and the world runs on its own apex, according to science, with no meddling from me.’
“‘I was referring,’ says he, ‘to the president of this republic. His country is in a desperate condition. Its treasury is empty, it’s on the verge of war with Nicamala, and if it wasn’t for the hot weather the people would be starting revolutions in every town. Here is a nation,’ goes on Wainwright, ‘on the brink of destruction. A man of intelligence could rescue it from its impending doom in one day by issuing the necessary edicts and orders. President Gomez knows nothing of statesmanship or policy. Do you know Adam Smith?’
“‘Lemme see,’ says I. ‘There was a one-eared man named Smith in Fort Worth, Texas, but I think his first name was—’
“‘I am referring to the political economist,’ says Wainwright.
“‘S’mother Smith, then,’ says I. ‘The one I speak of never was arrested.’
“So Wainwright boils some more with indignation at the insensibility of people who are not corpulent to fill public positions; and then he tells me he is going out to the president’s summer palace, which is four miles from Aguas Frescas, to instruct him in the art of running steam-heated republics.
“‘Come along with me, Trotter,’ says he, ‘and I’ll show you what brains can do.’
“‘Anything in it?’ I asks.
“‘The satisfaction,’ says he, ‘of redeeming a country of two hundred thousand population from ruin back to prosperity and peace.’