hard to regain his place in it. But he thought the novel that
he would write while lost to the world at Opeki would serve to
make up for his temporary absence from it, and he expressly
and impressively stipulated that the editor should wire him if
there was a war.

Captain Travis and his secretary crossed the continent without
adventure, and took passage from San Francisco on the first
steamer that touched at Octavia. They reached that island in
three days, and learned with some concern that there was no
regular communication with Opeki, and that it would be
necessary to charter a sailboat for the trip. Two fishermen
agreed to take them and their trunks, and to get them to their
destination within sixteen hours if the wind held good. It
was a most unpleasant sail. The rain fell with calm,
unrelentless persistence from what was apparently a clear sky;
the wind tossed the waves as high as the mast and made Captain
Travis ill; and as there was no deck to the big boat, they
were forced to huddle up under pieces of canvas, and talked
but little. Captain Travis complained of frequent twinges of
rheumatism, and gazed forlornly over the gunwale at the empty
waste of water.

"If I've got to serve a term of imprisonment on a rock in the
middle of the ocean for four years," he said, "I might just as
well have done something first to deserve it. This is a
pretty way to treat a man who bled for his country. This is
gratitude, this is." Albert pulled heavily on his pipe, and
wiped the rain and spray from his face and smiled.