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“I regret there is no ice,” he said, “but you know the rule of the tropics; as soon as a ship enters port, the ice-machine bursts.”

“I’ll tell the steward to send you some, sir,” said Livingstone, “and as long as we’re here.”

The senator showed his concern.

“As long as we’re here?” he gasped.

“Not over two days,” answered the owner nervously. “The chief says it will take all of that to get her in shape. As you ought to know, Senator, she was pretty badly mauled.”

The senator gazed blankly out of the window. Beyond it lay the naked coral reefs, the empty sky, and the ragged palms of Porto Banos.

Livingstone felt that his legation was slipping from him.

“That wireless operator,” he continued hastily, “tells me there is a most amusing place a few miles down the coast, Las Bocas, a sort of Coney Island, where the government people go for the summer. There’s surf bathing and roulette and cafes chantants. He says there’s some Spanish dancers—-“

The guests of the SERAPIS exclaimed with interest; the senator smiled. To Marshall the general enthusiasm over the thought of a ride on a merry-go-round suggested that the friends of Mr. Livingstone had found their own society far from satisfying.

Greatly encouraged, Livingstone continued, with enthusiasm:

“And that wireless man said,” he added, “that with the launch we can get there in half an hour. We might run down after dinner.” He turned to Marshall.

“Will you join us, Mr. Consul?” he asked, “and dine with us, first?”

Marshall accepted with genuine pleasure. It had been many months since he had sat at table with his own people. But he shook his head doubtfully.

“I was wondering about Las Bocas,” he explained, “if your going there might not get you in trouble at the next port. With a yacht, I think it is different, but Las Bocas is under quarantine.”

There was a chorus of exclamations.

“It’s not serious,” Marshall explained. “There was bubonic plague there, or something like it. You would be in no danger from that. It is only that you might be held up by the regulations. Passenger steamers can’t land any one who has been there at any other port of the West Indies. The English are especially strict. The Royal Mail won’t even receive any one on board here without a certificate from the English consul saying he has not visited Las Bocas. For an American they would require the same guarantee from me. But I don’t think the regulations extend to yachts. I will inquire. I don’t wish to deprive you of any of the many pleasures of Porto Banos,” he added, smiling, “but if you were refused a landing at your next port I would blame myself.”

“It’s all right,” declared Livingstone decidedly. “It’s just as you say; yachts and warships are exempt. Besides, I carry my own doctor, and if he won’t give us a clean bill of health, I’ll make him walk the plank. At eight, then, at dinner. I’ll send the cutter for you. I can’t give you a salute, Mr. Consul, but you shall have all the side boys I can muster.”

Those from the yacht parted from their consul in the most friendly spirit.

“I think he’s charming!” exclaimed Miss Cairns. “And did you notice his novels? They were in every language. It must be terribly lonely down here, for a man like that.”

“He’s the first of our consuls we’ve met on this trip,” growled her father, “that we’ve caught sober.”

“Sober!” exclaimed his wife indignantly.

“He’s one of the Marshalls of Vermont. I asked him.”

“I wonder,” mused Hanley, “how much the place is worth? Hamilton, one of the new senators, has been deviling the life out of me to send his son somewhere. Says if he stays in Washington he’ll disgrace the family. I should think this place would drive any man to drink himself to death in three months, and young Hamilton, from what I’ve seen of him, ought to be able to do it in a week. That would leave the place open for the next man.”