fter a few minutes of conversation, during which he
promised to give both of them details for field duty, he dismissed
them, and they were at liberty to accept an invitation to breakfast at
the San Carlos Club.

In the cool club-house, which faces the Plaza de Armas, where the band
plays in the evening and fountains plash softly amid blossoming
shrubbery, Ridge and his companion were introduced to many officers, a
number of whom were from the warships.

Santiago was very dull just then; its communication with the outside
world was cut off. No ships could enter its beautiful harbor, business
was almost at a standstill, and there was little to talk about. So the
advent of two strangers into the club was hailed with joy, and they
were plied with questions. No one seemed to suspect that our young
American was other than what he professed to be, though his answers to
many of their questions were necessarily vague and unsatisfactory. In
order to entertain them, the resident officers proposed various trips
to places of near-by interest, such as the fortifications, the barracks
where Lieutenant Hobson of the American navy was confined, the Morro,
from which a view of the blockading squadron could be had, or to the
Spanish war-ships lying in the harbor, the last of which was accepted
for that morning.

As soon, therefore, as breakfast was over, the new-comers were escorted
to the water-front, where lay several steam-launches. As they reached
the landing-place a fine-looking man, white bearded, with twinkling
eyes and kindly features, drove up in a carriage, and alighting with
springy step, was instantly saluted by every officer present. He
acknowledged the courtesy by lifting his hat and speaking to several of
them, whom he called by name. Emboldened by his kindness, these
ventured to present the new arrivals and mention their desire to visit
the Spanish ships; whereupon Admiral Cervera, bravest and most
chivalrous of Spain's commanders, promptly invited them to accompany
him to the flag-ship.

As they steamed down the bay in the superbly appointed launch flying an
Admiral's flag and manned by a picked crew in snowy duck, Ridge sat
silent, in a very confused frame of mind, and paying scant attention to
the gay conversation carried on by the other members of the party. He
had been overcome by the courtesy of his reception in Santiago, and was
feeling keenly the meanness of his position.

"I'll be shot for disobedien