As Panama approached the company street where the tent was located that he and Lefty occupied, he heard the voices of several Marine flyers lifted in harmony. He smiled contentedly, for this was home to him. The grim, khaki-colored tents, standing like rows of silent ghosts; the songs of the Marine Corps brutally sung by dish-pan quartets, then a sudden foul oath emitted by an occupant of one of the tents, voices raised in argument over a card game or some other trivial matter; that was the only world he had known since the day he ran away from home to become one of Uncle Sam’s soldiers of the sea. It was his life, his love and his work and he was never so contented as when returning from an expedition during a campaign, knowing that his day’s labor had been well done. He rambled along, through the narrow little street with rows of tents on each side, humming a popular song, dog-tired and ready to fall into a welcome and waiting cot. Inside of the last tent on the street, Lefty was nervously pacing back and forth, disgruntled and uncertain. He walked to the entrance and closed the canvas flaps, then turned and went to his cot, pulling out a dirty work shirt from a bundle and shining his shoes with it. He was an amazing sight, attired in the blue and scarlet dress uniform of the Marines at that hour of the night, campaigning in an open field in the midst of impending hostilities. Just as Panama arrived a few feet away from the entrance to the tent, he heard hurried footsteps from behind, and turning, recognized Steve, breathlessly running toward him. “Hey, Romeo,” the corporal shouted, wait a minute. “I got some news for you.” Panama stopped and waited for Graham, grinning good-naturedly and certain that the boy had followed him to pull some prank as a means of getting even for his putting the bucket over his head. “How’d you get the pail off your dome?” Williams greeted Graham by asking a little derisively. “That’s what I’ve come running to tell you,” Steve announced. “Somebody pulled it off for me and who do you think it was?” “Sandino?” “No, Elinor Martin!” Panama gazed at Graham with questioning and doubtful eyes, believing this to be some kind of practical joke. “Honest, it was Elinor,” the boy reiterated. “She came in to-day with nine other nurses and two doctors. I told her you had just landed and she’s waiting over at the field hospital for you now!” The sergeant, noting the ring of truth in the other man’s voice and the look of sincerity plainly visible upon his face, threw his arms about Steve and shouted for joy, forgetting all about his much-needed rest and the fatiguing work of the past two days. “Cut it out!” Graham demanded, breaking loose with much difficulty from Panama’s embrace. “Save that for your nursie.”