Several years later, when my brother was President of the United States, I was in England and I spent a week-end with the St. Loe Stracheys in Surrey, where Lord and Lady Cromer were also passing Sunday. Lord Cromer having, as a young man, visited our Western plains and prairies, adored the stories of the Rough Riders, and especially the incident of “Happy Jack’s” desire to become “bouncer-out” of the executive mansion. He loved the story so much that he insisted upon my telling it to another English peer, in whom the sense of humor was less striking than in Lord Cromer. I shall never forget the dreary sensation of struggling to tell Earl S---- that particular story. We were at a rather dreary garden-party, and Lord Cromer had presented his friend for the special purpose of having me tell this Rough Rider story. Much against my will, I acceded to his request, and the story seemed to get longer and longer and duller and duller in the telling. Having mentioned the “perfect treasure” of a butler in the beginning of the tale, that seemed to be the rudder to which Earl S---- clung through the involutions of Rough Riderism, and as I stumbled on to the ever-lengthening end of that unfortunate anecdote, the English peer in question turned to me as I fell into silence and said, coldly and courteously: “Is that all?” “Yes,” I said hastily, “quite all.” “Oh!” said my companion, with a sigh of relief, and then feeling that he had not been quite sufficiently sympathetic, he added courteously: “And did the butler stay?” When I returned with this sequel to the story of “Happy Jack” of Arizona and recounted it to my brother, he laughed immoderately and said: “I know you must have suffered telling the story, but that postscript to the story is worth all the pain you suffered.”