d of being a war correspondent. The men in the office say I dream
too much. They're always guying me about it. But, haven't you noticed,
it's the ones who dream who find their dreams come true. Now this isn't
real war, but it's a near war, and when the real thing breaks loose,
I can tell the managing editor I served as a war correspondent in the
Cuban-Spanish campaign. And he may give me a real job!"

"And you LIKE this?" groaned David.

"I wouldn't, if I were as sick as you are," said Carr, "but I've a
stomach like a Harlem goat." He stooped and lowered his voice. "Now,
here are two fake filibusters," he whispered. "The men you read about in
the newspapers. If a man's a REAL filibuster, nobody knows it!"

Coming toward them was the tall man who had knocked David out, and the
little one who had wanted to tie him to a tree.

"All they ask," whispered Carr, "is money and advertisement. If they
knew I was a reporter, they'd eat out of my hand. The tall man calls
himself Lighthouse Harry. He once kept a light-house on the Florida
coast, and that's as near to the sea as he ever got. The other one is
a dare-devil calling himself Colonel Beamish. He says he's an English
officer, and a soldier of fortune, and that he's been in eighteen
battles. Jimmy says he's never been near enough to a battle to see the
red-cross flags on the base hospital. But they've fooled these Cubans.
The Junta thinks they're great fighters, and it's sent them down here
to work the machine guns. But I'm afraid the only fighting they will do
will be in the sporting columns, and not in the ring."

A half dozen sea-sick Cubans were carrying a heavy, oblong box. They
dropped it not two yards from where David lay, and with a screwdriver
Lighthouse Harry proceeded to open the lid.

Carr explained to David that The Three Friends was approaching that part
of the coast of Cuba on which she had arranged to land her expedition,
and that in case she was surprised by one of the Spanish patrol boats
she was preparing to defend herself.

"They've got an automatic gun in that crate," said Carr, "and they're
going to assemble it. You'd better move; they'll be tramping all over
you."

David shook his head feebly.

"I can't move!" he protested. "I wouldn't move if it would free Cuba."

For several hours with very languid interest David watched Lighthouse
Harry and Colonel Beamish screw a heavy tripod to the deck and balance
above it a quick-firing one-pounder. T