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Half an hour later, Senator Hanley, Miss Cairns, and Livingstone came up the waterfront, and entering the consulate, seated themselves around Marshall’s desk. Livingstone was sunk in melancholy. The senator, on. the contrary, was smiling broadly. His manner was one of distinct relief. He greeted the consul with hearty good-humor.

“I’m ordered home!” he announced gleefully. Then, remembering the presence of Livingstone, he hastened to add: “I needn’t say how sorry I am to give up my yachting trip, but orders are orders. The President,” he explained to Marshall, ” cables me this morning to come back and take my coat off.” The prospect, as a change from playing bridge on a pleasure boat, seemed far from depressing him.

“Those filibusters in the Senate,” he continued genially, “are making trouble again. They think they’ve got me out of the way for another month, but they’ll find they’re wrong. When that bill comes up, they’ll find me at the old stand and ready for business!” Marshall did not attempt to conceal his personal disappointment.

“I am so sorry you are leaving,” he said; “selfishly sorry, I mean. I’d hoped you all would be here for several days.” He looked inquiringly toward Livingstone.

“I understood the SERAPIS was disabled,” he explained.

“She is,” answered Hanley. “So’s the RALEIGH. At a pinch, the admiral might have stretched the regulations and carried me to Jamaica, but the RALEIGH’s engines are knocked about too. I’ve GOT to reach Kingston Thursday. The German boat leaves there Thursday for New York. At first it looked as though I couldn’t do it, but we find that the Royal Mail is due to- day, and she can get to Kingston Wednesday night. It’s a great piece of luck. I wouldn’t bother you with my troubles, “the senator explained pleasantly, “but the agent of the Royal Mail here won’t sell me a ticket until you’ve put your seal to this.” He extended a piece of printed paper.

As Hanley had been talking, the face of the consul had grown grave. He accepted the paper, but did not look at it. Instead, he regarded the senator with troubled eyes. When he spoke, his tone was one of genuine concern.

“It is most unfortunate,” he said. “But I am afraid the ROYAL MAIL will not take you on board. Because of Las Bocas,” he explained. “If we had only known!” he added remorsefully. “It is MOST unfortunate.”

“Because of Las Bocas?” echoed Hanley.

“You don’t mean they’ll refuse to take me to Jamaica because I spent half an hour at the end of a wharf listening to a squeaky gramophone?”

“The trouble,” explained Marshall, “is this: if they carried you, all the other passengers would be held in quarantine for ten days, and there are fines to pay, and there would be difficulties over the mails. But,” he added hopefully, “maybe the regulations have been altered. I will see her captain, and tell him—-“

“See her captain!” objected Hanley. “Why see the captain? He doesn’t know I’ve been to that place. Why tell him? All I need is a clean bill of health from you. That’s all HE wants. You have only to sign that paper.” Marshall regarded the senator with surprise.

“But I can’t,” he said.

“You can’t? Why not?”

“Because it certifies to the fact that you have not visited Las Bocas. Unfortunately, you have visited Las Bocas.”

The senator had been walking up and down the room. Now he seated himself, and stared at Marshall curiously.

“It’s like this, Mr. Marshall,” he began quietly. “The President desires my presence in Washington, thinks I can be of some use to him there in helping carry out certain party measures–measures to which he pledged himself before his election. Down here, a British steamship line has laid down local rules which, in my case anyway, are ridiculous. The question is, are you going to be bound by the red tape of a ha’penny British colony, or by your oath to the President of the United States?”