low occupation of grooming a mule. He realized how much more comfortable his life in the army, and his travelling in Greece and Turkey would have been, had he been able to turn his own hand to the things other people had left undone. His heart warmed toward his instructor. One night, while they were smoking on the veranda of their hotel, and looking away at the lights in the harbour, he told a little of his story--something of Penthouse, and something of the girl he loved. But he did not mention her name, and, much to his relief, O'Rourke did not seem curious about it. That was one of O'Rourke's most comfortable characteristics. It was really a matter of breeding. He was deeply interested in whatever a person chose to tell him, and he would put helpful questions which did not call for further confessions; but he never tried to draw a man. One might safely tell him that one's grandmother had been a cannibal, without fear of being asked any question concerning one's grandfather. If he really wanted to know, he would go quietly to some one else for the information. Shortly after arriving in Jamaica, Hemming wrote a letter to Anderson, his particular friend in the Engineers. He mentioned having heard of Penthouse's outbreak, but said nothing of the occurrences of his last visit to London. He told, at a length suggestive of his profession, of the trip through Yucatan and Honduras, of his new friend, and of the adventurous passage from the coast of Central America to Kingston. He sang the praises of a free life and the glories of the tropics. He spoke of his success with the syndicate, and the probability of fighting in Cuba in the near future. He tried hard to make every line of the letter echo contentment, knowing that Anderson would, very likely, retail its contents to Miss Travers. "My God," he said, "I was fool enough, once, to let her see the wound she made, but once is for all." For the remainder of the morning O'Rourke found him in a low mood, and after trying, in vain, to raise his spirits with a new cigar as long as a riding-boot, he smoked the weed himself and wrote a ballad about pirates and blood. It was the ballad, complete after an hour's work, that did the business for Hemming. The swinging lines and rolling phrases, the fearful sea-oaths and unexpected rhymes started him in action. At first he was not sure whether he wanted to ride or write, but, with a little tactful persuasion from O'Rourke, decided on the former. They hired a couple of horses, went to the club, and drew several of their friends of H.M.S. _Thunderer_, and rode for hours, lunching late, out of town. One morning Hemming received a cablegram from Dodder, of the New York Syndicate, telling him to stand ready for orders, and that a letter followed. In a few days the letter came. It was a friendly, though businesslike epistle, and contained a check. It ran as follows: