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After her wrestling-match with the hurricane, all those on board the SERAPIS seemed to find in land, even in the swamp land of Porto Banos, a compelling attraction. Before the anchors hit the water, they were in the launch. On reaching shore, they made at once for the consulate. There were many cables they wished to start on their way by wireless; cables to friends, to newspapers, to the government.

Jose, the Colombian clerk, appalled by the unprecedented invasion of visitors, of visitors so distinguished, and Marshall, grateful for a chance to serve his fellow- countrymen, and especially his countrywomen, were ubiquitous, eager, indispensable. At Jose’s desk the great senator, rolling his cigar between his teeth, was using, to Jose’s ecstasy, Jose’s own pen to write a reassuring message to the White House. At the consul’s desk a beautiful creature, all in lace and pearls, was struggling to compress the very low opinion she held of a hurricane into ten words. On his knee, Henry Cairns, the banker, was inditing instructions to his Wall Street office, and upon himself Livingstone had taken the responsibility of replying to the inquiries heaped upon Marshall’s desk, from many newspapers.

It was just before sunset, and Marshall produced his tea things, and the young person in pearls and lace, who was Miss Cairns, made tea for the women, and the men mixed gin and limes with tepid water. The consul apologized for proposing a toast in which they could not join. He begged to drink to those who had escaped the perils of the sea. Had they been his oldest and nearest friends, his little speech could not have been more heart-felt and sincere. To his distress, it moved one of the ladies to tears, and in embarrassment he turned to the men.

“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