Andrew thought. He could hardly call on any of the gentlemen he had met at Judge Willo's to bear out his story--they were all Dr. Gentian's intimates. "The Governor might remember me, if I were shaved," he said slowly, "and then--is the Pride of the Colonies still in port? Captain Stout would recognize me, I know." "Oh, if that's your man!" said the captain, "Captain Stout's with the Governor now, I imagine--he's had the devil of a time getting cargo--and then the Governor's been holding him back to question him about this insurrection in the North. He sails this afternoon--you may catch him at the Governor's if you make haste. Sergeant--Sergeant--" he called peevishly, "where's one of those damned horses? I want to mount this man and send him to the Governor." He turned sharply to Andrew. "You'll watch yourself in the town," he said. "They're going to burn some of your rebels in effigy in the square today--silly nuisance burning fellows in effigy, but looks damned well as an expression of loyalty in a report"--and he laughed like a fox barking. "Sergeant--take this man into town with you and see he gets to His Excellency." "Shall I tie him, sir?" said the sergeant, stolidly, saluting. "Damn your boots, no. Why are you such a damned old fool? You can knock him on the head if he tries any tricks," he added thoughtfully, "but don't tie him now." 8. So Andrew, for the second time, presented to the streets of St. Augustine a queer and disreputable figure, under the hot sun. But this time, though he was ragamuffin indeed, he cared not at all where at first he had cared so greatly. He scuffed his broken shoes in his stirrups, comfortably, and was only interested to note that a little tail of pointing, giggling children followed himself and the sergeant to the Governor's door. "He see the Governor!" said a dewlapped Paunch with an amber-topped cane, regarding Andrew with evident disgust. "He can't see the Governor! Ridiculous, sergeant! The Governor's closeted--even if he were not--the fellow's far too foul." "Captain Strahan's orders. To see His Excellency at once," repeated the sergeant metallically. Andrew gathered that he did not like the Paunch. "Captain Strahan's orders?" yammered the Paunch, nervously. "Well, why didn't you say it was Captain Strahan's orders--if you'd said it was Captain Strahan's--" The Paunch's importance had shrunk--he was bustling away through a door. "Silly old capon," said the sergeant, devastatingly, with the air of one who spits to relieve his mind. The Paunch was back again, ushering Andrew along with fat, fluttering hands. The sergeant clanked after them. "No tricks," he was muttering. "Captain's orders. No tricks at all."