The Washington herald., 1914-11-29

of Occupation, and of that beautiful
island had grown foolishly fond. He
was familiar with every part of it, and
he believed in one or another of its
pretty ports he could so completely hide
himself that no one could intrude upon
his misery. In the States, in the news
papers he seemed to read only of those
places and friends and associates he
most loved. In the little Cuban village
in which he would bury himself he
would cut himself off from all news
papers, from all who knew him; from
those. who had been his friends. and
those who knew his name only to con-
meet It with a scandal.
On his way from Port Tampa to
Cuba the boat stopped at Key West
and for the hour in which she discharg-
ed cargo Swanson went ashore and
wandered aimlessly. The little town,
reared on a fat island of coral and
limestone, did not long detain him. The
main street of shops, eating houses, and
saloons, the pretty residences with
overhanging balconies, set among gar
dens and magnolia trees, were soon ex-
plored, and he was returning to the
boat when the martial music of band
caused him to halt A side street led
to a great gateway surmounted by an
anchor. Beyond it Swanson saw lawns
of well-kept grass, regular paths, pretty
cottages, the two-starred flag of an ad-
miral, and, rising high above these, like
four Eiffel towers, the gigantic masts
of a wireless. He recognized that he
was at the entrance to the Key West
naval station, and turned quickly away
He walked few feet, the music of
the band still in his ears. In an hour
he would be steaming toward Cuba,
and, should he hold to his present pur-
pose, in many years this would be the
last time he would stand on American
soil, would see the uniform of his coun-
Try, would hear a military band lull the
sun to sleep. 1t would hurt, but he
wondered if it were not worth the hurt
A smart sergeant of marines, in pass
ing, cast one glance at the man who
seemed always to wear epaulets, and
brought his hand sharply to salute. The
act determined Swanson. He had OBJ
tanned the salute under false pretenses,
but it had pleased, not hurt, him. He
turned back and passed into the gate Of
the naval station.
From the gate a grass-lined carriage
drive led to the waters of the harbor
and the wharves. At its extreme end
was the bandstand, fanked on one
side by the cottage of the admiral, on
the other by sail loft with IRON
barred windows and whitewashed
walls. Upon the turf were pyramids
of cannon balls and, laid out in rows
as though awaiting burial, old-time muz-
zle-loading guns Across the harbor
the sun was sinking into the coral reefs,
and the spring air, still warm from its
caresses, was stirred by the music of
the band into gentle rhythmic waves.
The scene was one of peace, order, and !
content
But as Swanson advanced, the meas
ure of the music was instantly shatter-
ed by fierce volley of explosions. They
come so suddenly and sharply as to
make him start. 1t was as though
from his flank a quick-fring gun in
ambush had opened upon him. Swan
son smiled at having been taken I'm
awares. For in San Francisco he
often had heard the roar and rattle of
the wireless But never before had he
listened to an attack like this.
From a tiny white-and-green cottage,
squatting among the four giant masts,
came the roar of a forest FIRE. One
could hear the crackle of the flames,
the crash of the falling tree trunks.
The air about the cottage was torn into
beneath the shocks of the cleo
II l(lAg IAlC lawn SSSAhCN " HCdNC
tremble. 1t was like some giant mon
ster, bound and fettered, struggling to
be free. Now it growled sullenly, now
it lashed about with crashing, stunning
blows. 1t seemed as though the
wooden walls of the station could not
contain It.
From the road Swanson watched, |,
through the open windows of the cot
tage, the electric bolts fash and fare
and disappear. The thing appealed to
his imagination. Its power, its cap
abilities fascinated him. In it he saw
a hungry monster reaching out to every
corner of the continent and devouring
the news of the world; feeding upon
tales of shipwreck and disaster, linger-
ing over some dainty morsel of scan
dal, snatching from ships and cities two |