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The general turned to the negro.

“Gumersindo, telephone my casa, that Señor Strawbridge will occupy the chamber overlooking the river.”

The drummer put up a hand in protest.

“Now, General, I'll go on to the hotel.”

The general erased the objection:

“There are no hotels in Canalejos, Señor Strawbridge; a few little eating-houses which the peons use when they come in from the llanos, that is all.”

By this time Strawbridge's embarrassment had vanished. The general somehow magnified him, set him up on a plane the salesman had never occupied before.

“Well, General,” he began cheerfully, using the American formula, “how's business here in Canalejos?”

“Business?” repeated the soldier, suavely. “Let me see,… business. You refer, I presume, to commercial products?” “Why, yes,” agreed the drummer, rather surprised.

“Pues, the peons, I believe, are gathering balata. The cocoa estancias will be sending in their yield at the end of this month; tonka-beans—”

“Are prices holding up well?” interrupted Strawbridge, with the affable discourtesy of an American who never quite waits till his question is answered.

“I believe so, Señor Strawbridge; or, rather, I assume so; I have not seen a market quotation in…” He turned to the editor: '“Señor Gumersindo, you are a journalist; are you au courant with the market reports?”

The negro made a slight bow.

“On what commodity, your Excellency?”

“What commodity are you particularly interested in, Señor Strawbridge?” inquired the soldier.

“Why… er… just the general trend of the market,” said Strawbridge, with a feeling that his little excursion into