seem to be a pretty keen
observer. What did you think of things in Haiti when you left?"

Stuart was flattered--as what boy would not have been--by this
suggestion that his political opinions were of importance, and he gave
himself all the airs of a grown-up, as he voiced his ideas. Many of them
were of real value, for, unconsciously, Stuart was quoting from the
material he had found in his father's papers, when he had rescued them
from Hippolyte.

Dinville led him on, cautiously, tickling his vanity the while, and,
before the meal was over, Stuart felt that he had found a friend. He
accepted an invitation to go up to the news office, so that his recently
made acquaintance might take some notes of his ideas.

The news-gatherer had not been a reporter for nothing, and, before ten
minutes had passed Stuart suddenly realized that he was on the verge of
telling the entire story, even to those things which he knew must be
held back. Cecil's warning recurred to him, and he pulled up short.

"I guess I hadn't better say any more," he declared, suddenly, and
wondered how much he had betrayed himself into telling.

Persuasion and further flattery failed, and the newspaper man saw that
he must change his tactics.

"You were willing enough to talk to the vice-consul," he suggested.

"Yes, but I wasn't going to tell him everything, either," the boy
retorted.

"You're not afraid to?"

Stuart's square chin protruded in its aggressive fashion.

"Afraid!" he declared contemptuously. Then he paused, and continued,
more slowly, "Well, in a way, maybe I am afraid. I don't know all I've
got hold of. Why--it might sure enough bring on War!"

Once on his guard, Stuart was as unyielding as granite. He feared he had
said too much already. The reporter, shrewdly, suggested that some of
Stuart's political ideas might be saleable newspaper material, handed
him a pencil and some copy-paper.

The boy, again flattered by this subtle suggestion that he was a
natural-born writer, covered sheet after sheet of the paper. Dinville
read it, corrected a few minor mistakes here and there, counted the
words, and taking some money from his pocket, counted out a couple of
bills and pushed them over to the boy.

"What's this for?" asked Stuart.

"For the story!" answered the reporter in well-simulated surprise.
"Regular space rates, six dollars a column. I'm not allowed to give
more, if that's what you mean."

"Oh, no!" was the surprised rep