On this special evening Tokio was a blaze of light. Not only were lanterns strung over every shop door and the porches of private houses, but in groups of twos and threes the golden and crimson globes veered wildly through the streets, borne by children as well as by their jubilant elders. Newspaper boys ran to and fro with extras, their little bells jingling and their shrill cries sounding above the roar of the crowds. The naval cadets of Japan in their neat uniforms massed in a solid column, and their cheer rang out, loud and clear: "_Banzai! Dai Nippon banzai! Banzai, banzai, banzai!_" Edith clasped her hands as she listened. "It's like a Harvard cheer," she exclaimed; "only it's more real!" "Yes," said the Colonel, blowing out a whiff of smoke. "It's life and death, instead of a mere football victory. I wish I could get the latest news----" Just then a slight, alert figure came up the steps of the hotel. The young man glanced quickly right and left as he reached the verandah. "Ah, Miss Black and Miss Ethelwyn," he said, coming forward with outstretched hand, "I'm not sure that you remember me, but that evening on the _Osprey_----" "Mr. Larkin!" exclaimed both girls, rising and cordially shaking his hand. "How delightful to find you here! Colonel Selborne, Mr. Larkin, a friend of Lieutenant-Commander Rexdale's." "Is Mr. Larkin in the navy?" inquired Colonel Selborne, meeting the young man's friendly greeting in his hearty way. "Well, no, not exactly," said Larkin with a laugh, "although I am on board the war-vessels pretty often, as war correspondent for the Boston _Bulletin_. There are half a dozen of us here already, trying to get our passes to go to the front, wherever that may be. Just now it's on the fleet and at Chemulpo, where the Japs have landed a regiment." "O Mr. Larkin!" exclaimed Edith. "You'll surely be shot, or something, if you go right where the soldiers and battles are!" "It will be 'something,' then, I guess," said the reporter with another of his jolly laughs. "We fellows aren't often shot. The greatest trouble we have, in a foreign war, is getting within reach of bullets at all. These blessed Japs bow and smile and promise, from dawn to sunset, but somehow there's always some hitch when it comes to actual permission to start. If I don't get my pass soon," he added, lowering his voice, "I shall get a move on, permission or no permission." As he spoke, both girls nodded to a man who bowed low as he passed them and entered the open door of the hotel. Larkin, following the direction of their glances, stopped short. A puzzled expression came into his face. "Pardon me," he said quickly, "may I ask you the name of the gentleman who bowed to you?" "That? Oh, that's Señor Bellardo," replied Wynnie carelessly. "He's a Spaniard, I believe, travelling for his health, but he speaks English very nicely. Have you met him?"