e nodded his head approvingly. "You certainty did, Dave,"
protested the great man, "I seen you when you done it!"

At Key West Carr filed his story and while the hospital surgeons kept
David there over one steamer, to dress his wounds, his fame and features
spread across the map of the United States.

Burdett and Sons basked in reflected glory. Reporters besieged their
office. At the Merchants Down-Town Club the business men of lower
Broadway tendered congratulations.

"Of course, it's a great surprise to us," Burdett and Sons would protest
and wink heavily. "Of course, when the boy asked to be sent South we'd
no idea he was planning to fight for Cuba! Or we wouldn't have let him
go, would we?" Then again they would wink heavily. "I suppose you know,"
they would say, "that he's a direct descendant of General Hiram Greene,
who won the battle of Trenton. What I say is, 'Blood will tell!'" And
then in a body every one in the club would move against the bar and
exclaim: "Here's to Cuba libre!"

When the Olivette from Key West reached Tampa Bay every Cuban in the
Tampa cigar factories was at the dock. There were thousands of them and
all of the Junta, in high hats, to read David an address of welcome.

And, when they saw him at the top of the gang-plank with his head in a
bandage and his arm in a sling, like a mob of maniacs they howled and
surged toward him. But before they could reach their hero the courteous
Junta forced them back, and cleared a pathway for a young girl. She was
travel-worn and pale, her shirt-waist was disgracefully wrinkled, her
best hat was a wreck. No one on Broadway would have recognized her as
Burdett and Sons' most immaculate and beautiful stenographer.

She dug the shapeless hat into David's shoulder, and clung to him.
"David!" she sobbed, "promise me you'll never, never do it again!"

Chapter 5. THE SAILORMAN

Before Latimer put him on watch, the Nantucket sailorman had not a care
in the world. If the wind blew from the north, he spun to the left; if
it came from the south, he spun to the right. But it was entirely
the wind that was responsible. So, whichever way he turned, he smiled
broadly, happily. His outlook upon the world was that of one who loved
his fellowman. He had many brothers as like him as twins all over
Nantucket and Cape Cod and the North Shore, smiling from the railings of
verandas, from the roofs of bungalows, from the eaves of summer palaces.
Empaled on their little