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Sunshine Sketches of a Little Town by Stephen Leacock
page 51 of 213 (23%)
proud when, a few days later, he got a letter from the Cuban people,
from New York, accepting the money straight off without a single
question, and without knowing anything more of Johnson except that he
was a friend of Jeff's. They wrote most handsomely. Any friends of
Jeff's were friends of Cuba. All money they might send would be
treated just as Jeff's would be treated.

One reason, perhaps, why Jeff didn't give up shaving was because it
allowed him to talk about Cuba. You see, everybody knew in Mariposa
that Jeff Thorpe had sold out of Cobalts and had gone into Cuban
Renovated Lands--and that spread round him a kind of halo of wealth
and mystery and outlandishness--oh, something Spanish. Perhaps you've
felt it about people that you know. Anyhow, they asked him about the
climate, and yellow fever and what the negroes were like and all that
sort of thing.

"This Cubey, it appears is an island," Jeff would explain. Of
course, everybody knows how easily islands lend themselves to making
money,--"and for fruit, they say it comes up so fast you can't stop
it." And then he would pass into details about the Hash-enders and
the resurrectos and technical things like that till it was thought a
wonder how he could know it. Still, it was realized that a man with
money has got to know these things. Look at Morgan and Rockefeller
and all the men that make a pile. They know just as much as Jeff did
about the countries where they make it. It stands to reason.

Did I say that Jeff shaved in the same old way? Not quite. There was
something even dreamier about it now, and a sort of new element in
the way Jeff fell out of his monotone into lapses of thought that I,
for one, misunderstood. I thought that perhaps getting so much
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