fly?" asked the Negro President.

"The flags of all nations," said Mr. Bryan.

"Where will you get your sailors?"

"From all the nations," said Mr. Bryan, "but the uniform
will be all the same, a plain white blouse with blue
insertions, and white duck trousers with the word PEACE
stamped across the back of them in big letters. This will
help to impress the sailors with the almost sacred
character of their functions."

"But what will the fleet's functions be?" asked the
President.

"Whenever a quarrel arises," explained Mr. Bryan, "it
will be submitted to a Board. Who will be on this Board,
in addition to myself, I cannot as yet say. But it's of
no consequence. Whenever a case is submitted to the
Board it will think it over for three years. It will then
announce its decision--if any. After that, if any one
nation refuses to submit, its ports will be bombarded by
the Peace Fleet."

Rapturous expressions of approval greeted Mr. Bryan's
explanation.

"But I don't understand," said the Negro President,
turning his puzzled face to Mr. Bryan. "Would some of
these ships be British ships?"

"Oh, certainly. In view of the dominant size of the
British Navy about one-quarter of all the ships would be
British ships."

"And the sailors British sailors?"

"Oh, yes," said Mr. Bryan, "except that they would be
wearing international breeches--a most important point."

"And if the Board, made up of all sorts of people, were
to give a decision against England, then these
ships--British ships with British sailors--would be sent
to bombard England itself."

"Exactly," said Mr. Bryan. "Isn't it beautifully simple?
And to guarantee its working properly," he continued,
"just in case we have to use the fleet against England,
we're going to ask Admiral Jellicoe himself to take
command."

The Negro President slowly shook his head.

"Marse Bryan," he said, "you notice what I say. I know
Marse Jellicoe. I done seen him lots of times when he
was just a lieutenant, down in the harbour of Port au
Prince. If youse folks put up this proposition to Marse
Jellicoe, he'll just tell the whole lot of you to go
plumb to--"

But the close of the sentence was lost by a sudden
interruption. A servant entered with a folded telegram
in his hand.

"For me?" said Mr. Bryan, with a winning smile.

"For the President of Haiti, sir," said the man.

The President took the telegram and opened it clumsily
with his finger and thumb amid a g