In all his years of pursuing the fast buck around the national capital, weedy Little John Maragon never seemed to be getting anywhere. He was an anxious glad-hander of big men, a hanger-on at the White House, a willing errand-runner and a great fellow for cadging free rides in official trains and limousines. But he lived in a middlebrow house in the suburbs, moaned about the cost of groceries, and looked like a part-time shoe clerk. Most of the capital was inclined to agree when his fellow countryman, Greek-born Promoter William G. Helis, said:

"John's not a bad boy. He...

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