“Here’s three thousand words,” he said desperately. “I never wrote more and said less in my life. It will make them weep at the office. I had to pretend that they knew all that had happened so far; they apparently do know more than we do, and I have filled it full of prophesies of more trouble ahead, and with interviews with myself and the two ex-Kings. The only news element in it is, that the messengers have returned to report that the German vessel is not in sight, and that there is no news. They think she has gone for good. Suppose she has, Stedman,” he groaned, looking at him helplessly, “what _am_ I going to do?” “Well, as for me,” said Stedman, “I’m afraid to go near that cable. It’s like playing with a live wire. My nervous system won’t stand many more such shocks as those they gave us this morning.” Gordon threw himself down dejectedly in a chair in the office, and Stedman approached his instrument gingerly, as though it might explode. “He’s swearing again,” he explained sadly, in answer to Gordon’s look of inquiry. “He wants to know when I am going to stop running away from the wire. He has a stack of messages to send, he says, but I guess he’d better wait and take your copy first; don’t you think so?” “Yes, I do,” said Gordon. “I don’t want any more messages than I’ve had. That’s the best I can do,” he said, as he threw his manuscript down beside Stedman. “And they can keep on cabling until the wire burns red hot, and they won’t get any more.” There was silence in the office for some time, while Stedman looked over Gordon’s copy, and Gordon stared dejectedly out at the ocean. “This is pretty poor stuff, Gordon,” said Stedman. “It’s like giving people milk when they want brandy.” “Don’t you suppose I know that?” growled Gordon. “It’s the best I can do, isn’t it? It’s not my fault that we are not all dead now. I can’t massacre foreign residents if there are no foreign residents, but I can commit suicide though, and I’ll do it if something don’t happen.” There was a long pause, in which the silence of the office was only broken by the sound of the waves beating on the coral reefs outside. Stedman raised his head wearily. “He’s swearing again,” he said; “he says this stuff of yours is all nonsense. He says stock in the Y. C. C. has gone up to one hundred and two, and that owners are unloading and making their fortunes, and that this sort of descriptive writing is not what the company wants.” “What’s he think I’m here for?” cried Gordon. “Does he think I pulled down the German flag and risked my neck half a dozen times and had myself made King just to boom his Yokohama cable stock? Confound him! You might at least swear back. Tell him just what the situation is in a few words. Here, stop that rigmarole to the paper, and explain to your home office that we are awaiting developments, and that, in the meanwhile, they must put up with the best we can send them. Wait; send this to Octavia.”