"An editor, likely, who has lost some of his manuscripts," remarked Hemming. "Or a girl," said the other. "Why a girl?" asked the Englishman. Dodder smiled pensively. "I like to think so," he said, "for though I am nothing but a corpulent business slave myself, I've a fine active brain for romance, and the heart of a Lochinvar." Hemming nodded gravely. Dodder laughed at him. "You are thinking what a devilish big horse I need," he said. They dined together that evening at the Reform Club, and Hemming was amazed at the quantity of food the big man consumed. He had seen O'Rourke, the long, lean, and broad, sit up to some hearty meals after a day in the saddle, but never had he met with an appetite like Dodder's. It was the appetite of his ancestral lumbermen, changed a little in taste, perhaps, but the same in vigour. War was in order between the United States of America and Spain. General Shafter's army was massing in Tampa, Florida, and Hemming, with letters from the syndicate, started for Washington to procure a pass from the War Office. But on the night before his departure from New York came news from London of his book, and the first batch of proof-sheets for correction. He worked until far into the morning, and mailed the proofs, together with a letter, before breakfast. Arriving in Washington, he went immediately to the War Department building, and handed in his letters. The clerk returned and asked him to follow to an inner room. There he found a pale young man, with an imposing, closely printed document in his hand. "Captain Hemming?" inquired the gentleman. Hemming bowed. "Your credentials are correct," continued the official, "and the Secretary of War has signed your passport. Please put your name here." Hemming signed his name on the margin of the document, folded it, and stowed it in a waterproof pocketbook, and bowed himself out. He was about to close the door behind him when the official called him back. "You forgot something, captain," said the young man, holding a packet made up of about half a dozen letters toward him. "Not I," replied Hemming. He glanced at the letters, and read on the top one "Bertram St. Ives O'Rourke, Esq." "O'Rourke," he exclaimed. "How stupid of me," cried the young man. "Where is he? When was he here?" inquired Hemming. "He is a particular friend of mine," he added. The official considered for a second or two. "Tall chap with a yellow face and a silk hat, isn't he?" he asked. "Tall enough," replied Hemming, "but he had neither a yellow face nor a silk hat when I saw him last--that was in Jamaica, about a year ago." At that moment the door opened and O'Rourke entered. Without noticing Hemming he gave a folded paper to the clerk. "You'll find that right enough," he said--and then his eye lighted upon his old comrade. He grasped the Englishman by the shoulders and shook him backward and forward, grinning all the while a wide, yellow grin.