“Probably is,” Phil replied. “In bush fighting a sight is probably of little use unless the native is trained to use it intelligently.” The three walked slowly along the main street. At the gate of the Herzovinian consulate in Matafeli, they saw Count Rosen. All were surprised to receive a cordial smile, as he raised his hat to Alice. “Look,” Phil exclaimed, “the boxes are still on the porch of the Kapuan firm’s store.” All had stopped to gaze upon the mysterious boxes yet unopened. A crowd of natives, laughing and jostling each other, covered the wide porches encircling the store, and spilled over into the courtyard. “What is the cause of their merriment?” Sydney asked. Alice had drawn near a group of native women who had stopped in front of the store to gossip together. They turned and answered her question by pointing to a large print pasted on the side of the house. The midshipmen could not curb their curiosity and drew nearer to get a closer look. “I call that a low-down, contemptible advantage to take of friendly nations,” Phil exclaimed, beside himself with indignation. What he had seen was a colored cartoon from an English paper representing Herzovinia kicking both Johnny Bull and Uncle Sam from off a tropical island into the sea. The conservative Sydney would have stayed his impetuous chum, but Phil, before his friend could realize his intention, had strode excitedly forward, pushing the yielding natives from his path. Sydney saw him take his penknife and deftly cut the picture from the house wall where it had been roughly pasted. Then calmly rolling it up, Phil returned and joined his astonished companions. “What have you done?” Sydney exclaimed in alarm. “They’ll consider it an insult.” But Alice answered the question, admiration shining in her excited face. “He has only prevented an insult going any further,” she said. They were about to retrace their steps to Matautu when Klinger suddenly appeared from the interior of the store. He glanced first in amusement at the Americans, and then up on the side of the house. The smile faded. He asked a question of a native and received an answer. His face became suddenly pale with rage. His gaze fell upon the cartoon rolled up in Phil’s hand. Scowling darkly he advanced, one hand outstretched. “You will please hand over that picture,” he ordered sharply. Phil squared toward the manager, holding the picture behind him. “I decline to give it to you,” Phil replied in a voice he managed to hold steady. “That is no place to display such a picture at this time.”