en his friends, and those who knew his name
only to connect it with a scandal.

On his way from Port Tampa to Cuba the boat stopped at Key West, and
for the hour in which she discharged cargo Swanson went ashore and
wandered aimlessly. The little town, reared on a flat island of coral
and limestone, did not long detain him. The main street of shops,
eating-houses, and saloons, the pretty residences with overhanging
balconies, set among gardens and magnolia-trees, were soon explored,
and he was returning to the boat when the martial music of a band
caused him to halt. A side street led to a great gateway surmounted by
an anchor. Beyond it Swanson saw lawns of well-kept grass, regular
paths, pretty cottages, the two-starred flag of an admiral, and, rising
high above these, like four Eiffel towers, the gigantic masts of a
wireless. He recognized that he was at the entrance to the Key West
naval station, and turned quickly away.

He walked a few feet, the music of the band still in his ears. In an
hour he would be steaming toward Cuba, and, should he hold to his
present purpose, in many years this would be the last time he would
stand on American soil, would see the uniform of his country, would
hear a military band lull the sun to sleep. It would hurt, but he
wondered if it were not worth the hurt. A smart sergeant of marines,
in passing, cast one glance at the man who seemed always to wear
epaulets, and brought his hand sharply to salute. The act determined
Swanson. He had obtained the salute under false pretenses, but it had
pleased, not hurt him. He turned back and passed into the gate of the
naval station.

From the gate a grass-lined carriage drive led to the waters of the
harbor and the wharfs. At its extreme end was the band-stand, flanked
on one side by the cottage of the admiral, on the other by a sail-loft
with iron-barred windows and whitewashed walls. Upon the turf were
pyramids of cannon-balls and, laid out in rows as though awaiting
burial, old-time muzzle-loading guns. Across the harbor the sun was
sinking into the coral reefs, and the spring air, still warm from its
caresses, was stirred by the music of the band into gentle, rhythmic
waves. The scene was one of peace, order, and content.

But as Swanson advanced, the measure of the music was instantly
shattered by a fierce volley of explosions. They came so suddenly and
sharply as to make him start. It was as though from his flank a
qui