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