Читать книгу Hard-Pan. A Story of Bonanza Fortunes онлайн

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“You thought I was younger, didn’t you?” she said, smiling. “Everybody does.”

He was about to answer when the colonel once more took up the thread of his reminiscences.

“Maroney was down then—’way down; not even on the lowest rung of the ladder—he wasn’t on the ladder at all. I gave him the first lift he had. No one would look at Maroney in those days. He was a thin, consumptive-looking fellow, full of crazy schemes, forever coming to you and borrowing money for some wild-cat stock that wasn’t worth the paper it was printed on. I took a fancy to him, and every dollar he made was through my help and advice. It was when I had my offices on Montgomery Street, and he’d have a way of dropping in about lunch-time and hanging round looking poor and sick. I used to take him out to lunch, and give him a square meal and a few points that he’d sense enough to follow. He wasn’t like Jerry; he was smart. Why, I almost fed that man for years. When he’d get down on his luck—and he was always doing that—I’d say, ‘You know, when you want, my check-book’s at your disposal.’ And it was, more times than I can remember.”