se, "Jimmy" Doyle, Carr, and David, the
patriots and their arms had been safely dumped upon the coast of Cuba,
and _The_ _Three Friends_ was gliding swiftly and, having
caught the Florida straits napping, smoothly toward Key West. Carr had
just finished reading aloud his account of the engagement.

"You will tell the story just as I have written it," commanded the proud
author. "Your being South as a travelling salesman was only a blind. You
came to volunteer for this expedition. Before you could explain your
wish you were mistaken for a secret-service man, and hustled on board.
That was just where you wanted to be, and when the moment arrived you
took command of the ship and single-handed won the naval battle of Nipe
Bay."

Jimmy Doyle nodded his head approvingly. "You certainly 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.

[Illustration: She dug the shapeless hat into David's shoulder.]

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