While Dick was on his way home, toiling away with his pencil even in the cars and on the steamship, he had no idea of the great success he had made of his expedition. He did not see a copy of the Transport while he was away; but many other people saw it and read and enjoyed the letters of the bright young correspondent from Cuba and Mexico. In the Transport office they were considered so good that his name, Richard Sumner, in full was signed to each letter; and other newspapers liked them, too, so well that they were copied all over the country. He was making his name known, and favorably known, all over the land. “It’s lucky,” he said to himself over and over, “that I made it a rule to write each subject while it was fresh. It makes a perfect jumble in a man’s head, traveling so fast in such strange countries. If I had merely made notes, I’m afraid I should be all mixed up. I hardly feel like Dick Sumner, anyhow, after this strange experience. I shouldn’t be a bit surprised to find myself wearing white cotton trowsers rolled above the knee and a white shirt flying outside my waistband, like some of the natives on the coast. But I never shall forget Comacho, whatever happens. Poor old Comacho! He’s an awful baby, but I’m sorry for him.” It was shortly after noon when the steamer landed Dick in New York, and he determined to run into the office first to shake hands, before going home to enjoy a few hours of rest that he felt he had earned. He imagined that the boys would be glad to see him again, and he was sure that he would be glad to see the boys. He sprang up the stairs two or three steps at a time. “Hello, Sumner! what are you doing here?” the city editor exclaimed as Dick walked through the big room. “Didn’t you get my cable in Havana?” It was very different from the greeting he had expected. “Cable!” Dick repeated; “I’ve had no cable. I haven’t heard a word from the office since I went away.” “I was afraid it had miscarried since I got no answer,” the editor went on. “You were ordered to go on to Porto Rico. I suppose you don’t know yet that your letters have made a great hit; but that’s the fact. Everybody is copying them, and the old man says you must keep on striking while your iron is hot. You’ve hit off those Spanish countries in grand style, and you’re booked to make a tour of Porto Rico, the only other Spanish island of the West Indies. But Mr. Harding will tell you all about it when he comes down.” “I’ll run up home and see the folks and be back in time to meet him.” “Yes, that will do it. He’ll send you down in the first steamer, I’m pretty sure. There’s a direct steamer from here to Porto Rico.” Dick carried both joy and mourning with him to the flat--joy over his return, mourning over the necessity of his going away again almost immediately.