“People have the strangest idea of what I can do for them,” he laughed. It was his pose to pretend he was without authority. “They believe I’ve only to wave a wand, and get them anything they want. I thought I’d be safe from them on board a yacht.” Livingstone, in ignorance of what was coming, squirmed apprehensively. “But it seems,” the senator went on, “I’m at the mercy of a conspiracy. The women folk want me to do something for this fellow Marshall. If they had their way, they’d send him to the Court of St. James. And old Hardy, too, tackled me about him. So did Miss Cairns. And then Marshall himself got me behind the wheel-house, and I thought he was going to tell me how good he was, too! But he didn’t.” As though the joke were on himself, the senator laughed appreciatively. “Told me, instead, that Hardy ought to be a vice-admiral.” Livingstone, also, laughed, with the satisfied air of one who cannot be tricked. “They fixed it up between them,” he explained, “each was to put in a good word for the other.” He nodded eagerly. “That’s what _I_ think.” There were moments during the cruise when Senator Hanley would have found relief in dropping his host overboard. With mock deference, the older man inclined his head. “That’s what _you_ think, is it?” he asked. “Livingstone,” he added, “you certainly are a great judge of men!” The next morning, old man Marshall woke with a lightness at his heart that had been long absent. For a moment, conscious only that he was happy, he lay between sleep and waking, frowning up at his canopy of mosquito net, trying to realize what change had come to him. Then he remembered. His old friend had returned. New friends had come into his life and welcomed him kindly. He was no longer lonely. As eager as a boy, he ran to the window. He had not been dreaming. In the harbor lay the pretty yacht, the stately, white-hulled war-ship. The flag that drooped from the stern of each caused his throat to tighten, brought warm tears to his eyes, fresh resolve to his discouraged, troubled spirit. When he knelt beside his bed, his heart poured out his thanks in gratitude and gladness. While he was dressing, a blue-jacket brought a note from the admiral. It invited him to tea on board the war-ship, with the guests of the _Serapis_. His old friend added that he was coming to lunch with his consul, and wanted time reserved for a long talk. The consul agreed gladly. He was in holiday humor. The day promised to repeat the good moments of the night previous. At nine o’clock, through the open door of the consulate, Marshall saw Aiken, the wireless operator, signaling from the wharf excitedly to the yacht, and a boat leave the ship and return. Almost immediately the launch, carrying several passengers, again made the trip shoreward.