From his mind President Ham had dismissed all thoughts of the war-ship that had been sighted and that now had come to anchor. For the moment he was otherwise concerned. Fate could not harm him; he was about to dine. But, for the first time in the history of his administration, that solemn ceremony was rudely halted. An excited aide, trembling at his own temerity, burst upon the president’s solitary state. In the anteroom, he announced, an officer from the battle-ship LOUISIANA demanded instant audience. For a moment, transfixed in amazement, anger, and alarm President Ham remained seated. Such a visit, uninvited, was against all tradition; it was an affront, an insult. But that it was against all precedent argued some serious necessity. He decided it would be best to receive the officer. Besides, to continue his dinner was now out of the question. Both appetite and digestion had fled from him. In the anteroom Billy was whispering final instructions to St. Clair. “Whatever happens,” he begged, “don’t LAUGH! Don’t even smile politely! He’s very ignorant, you see, and he’s sensitive. When he meets foreigners and can’t understand their language, he’s always afraid if they laugh that he’s made a break and that they’re laughing at HIM. So, be solemn; look grave; look haughty!” “I got you!” assented St. Clair. “I’m to ‘register’ pride.” “Exactly!” said Billy. “The more pride you register, the better for us.” Inwardly cold with alarm, outwardly frigidly polite, Billy presented “Lieutenant Hardy.” He had come, Billy explained, in answer to the call for help sent by himself to the Secretary of State, which by wireless had been communicated to the LOUISIANA. Lieutenant Hardy begged him to say to the president that he was desolate at having to approach His Excellency so unceremoniously. But His Excellency, having threatened the life of an American citizen, the captain, of the LOUISIANA was forced to act quickly. “And this officer?” demanded President Ham; “what does he want?” “He says,” Billy translated to St. Clair, “that he is very glad to meet you, and he wants to know how much you earn a week.” The actor suppressed his surprise and with pardonable pride said that his salary was six hundred dollars a week and royalties on each film. Billy bowed to the president. “He says,” translated Billy, “he is here to see that I get my ten thousand francs, and that if I don’t get them in ten minutes he will return to the ship and land marines.” To St. Clair it seemed as though the president received his statement as to the amount of his salary, with a disapproval that was hardly flattering. With the heel of his giant fist the president beat upon the table, his curls shook, his gorilla-like shoulders heaved. In an explanatory aside Billy made this clear. “He says,” he interpreted, “that you get more as an actor than he gets as president, and it makes him mad.” “I can see it does myself,” whispered St. Clair. “And I don’t understand French, either.”