Just before Johnny Kent loomed athwart her placid horizon on this momentous morning, the contented spinster was tracing on the white carpet of sand a tentative outline of the asparagus-bed to be submitted to his critical eye. A shadow caused her to glance up, and her startled vision beheld not the comfortable bulk and rubicund visage of the chief engineer, but the martial figure and saturnine countenance of Colonel Calvo. He was still arrayed in the panoply of war. The front of his straw hat was pinned back by a tiny Cuban flag. His white uniform, somewhat dingy, was brave with medals and brass buttons, and the tarnished spurs tinkled at his high heels. Unaware that he was Miss Hollister’s pet aversion, the gallant colonel bowed low with his hand on his heart, smiled a smile warranted to bring the most obdurate señorita fluttering from her perch, and affably exclaimed: “I have the honor to ask, is your health pretty good? We have suffer’ together. I promise myself to come before, but my brave mens have need me.” “There is no reason why you should trouble yourself on my account, I am sure,” crisply replied Miss Hollister. “Captain O’Shea is taking the best of care of us, thank you.” The colonel assumed a graceful pose, one hand on his hip, the other toying with his jaunty mustache. How could any woman resist him? “I will be so glad to have you inspec’ my camp,” said he, staring at her very boldly. “It is ver’ military. That Captain O’Shea”--an eloquent shrug--“he is good on the sea, but he is not a soldier, to know camps like me.” “Captain O’Shea has offered to show me the camps. He is in command, I believe.” “That fellow do not comman’ me. Will you come to-night? My soldiers will sing for you the songs of _Cuba Libre_.” “No, I thank you.” Miss Hollister was positively discourteous. “Ah, so beautiful a woman and so cruel,” sighed the colonel, ogling her with his most fatal glances. Miss Hollister spied Johnny Kent coming at top speed, and she looked so radiant that Colonel Calvo spun round to discover the reason. With a contemptuous laugh he remarked: “The greasy ol’ man of the engines! I do not like him.” Johnny Kent had read the meaning of the tableau. The colonel was making himself unpleasant to Miss Hollister. And the breeze carried to his ear the unflattering characterization of himself. “He’s playing right into my hands. It couldn’t happen nicer if I had arranged it myself,” said the chief engineer under his breath. His mien was as fierce as that of an indignant walrus as he bore down on the pair and, without deigning to notice Colonel Calvo, exclaimed to Miss Hollister: “Was anybody makin’ himself unwelcome to you just now? If so, I’ll be pleased to remove him somewhere else.” “You will min’ your own business,” grandly declaimed Colonel Calvo.