dy to receive the consul's salute."

Involuntarily, Marshall uttered an exclamation of protest. He had
forgotten that on leaving the war-ship, as consul, he was entitled to
seven guns. Had he remembered, he would have insisted that the ceremony
be omitted. He knew that the admiral wished to show his loyalty, knew
that his old friend was now paying him this honor only as a rebuke to
Hanley. But the ceremony was no longer an honor. Hanley had made of it a
mockery. It served only to emphasize what had been taken from him. But,
without a scene, it now was too late to avoid it. The first of the seven
guns had roared from the bow, and, as often he had stood before, as
never he would so stand again, Marshall took his place at the gangway
of the launch. His eyes were fixed on the flag, his gray head was
uncovered, his hat was pressed above his heart.

For the first time since Hanley had left the consulate, he fell into
sudden terror lest he might give way to his emotions. Indignant at the
thought, he held himself erect. His face was set like a mask, his eyes
were untroubled. He was determined they should not see that he was
suffering.

Another gun spat out a burst of white smoke, a stab of flame. There was
an echoing roar. Another and another followed. Marshall counted seven,
and then, with a bow to the admiral, backed from the gangway.

And then another gun shattered the hot, heavy silence. Marshall,
confused, embarrassed, assuming he had counted wrong, hastily returned
to his place. But again before he could leave it, in savage haste a
ninth gun roared out its greeting. He could not still be mistaken. He
turned appealingly to his friend. The eyes of the admiral were fixed
upon the war-ship. Again a gun shattered the silence. Was it a jest?
Were they laughing at him? Marshall flushed miserably. He gave a swift
glance toward the others. They were smiling. Then it was a jest. Behind
his back, something of which they all were cognizant was going forward.
The face of Livingstone alone betrayed a like bewilderment to his own.
But the others, who knew, were mocking him.

For the thirteenth time a gun shook the brooding swamp land of Porto
Banos. And then, and not until then, did the flag crawl slowly from the
mast-head. Mary Cairns broke the tenseness by bursting into tears. But
Marshall saw that every one else, save she and Livingstone, were still
smiling. Even the bluejackets in charge of the launch were grinning
at him. He w