rrespondent," he read: "Try American consul.
First message O.K.; beat the country; can take all you send. Give names
of foreign residents massacred, and fuller account blowing up palace.
Dodge."

The expression on Gordon's face as this message was slowly read off to
him, had changed from one of gratified pride to one of puzzled
consternation.

"What's he mean by foreign residents massacred, and blowing up of
palace?" asked Stedman, looking over his shoulder anxiously. "Who is
Dodge?"

"Dodge is the night editor," said Gordon, nervously. "They must have
read my message wrong. You sent just what I gave you, didn't you?" he
asked.

"Of course I did," said Stedman, indignantly.

"I didn't say anything about the massacre of anybody, did I?" asked
Gordon. "I hope they are not improving on my account. What _am_ I to do?
This is getting awful. I'll have to go out and kill a few people myself.
Oh, why don't that Dutch captain begin to do something! What sort of a
fighter does he call himself? He wouldn't shoot at a school of
porpoises. He's not--"

"Here comes a message to Leonard T. Travis, American consul, Opeki,"
read Stedman. "It's raining messages to-day. 'Send full details of
massacre of American citizens by German sailors.' Secretary of--great
Scott!" gasped Stedman, interrupting himself and gazing at his
instrument with horrified fascination--"the Secretary of State."

"That settles it," roared Gordon, pulling at his hair and burying his
face in his hands. "I have _got_ to kill some of them now."

"Albert Gordon, Correspondent," read Stedman, impressively, like the
voice of Fate. "Is Colonel Thomas Bradley commanding native forces at
Opeki, Colonel Sir Thomas Kent-Bradley of Crimean war fame?
Correspondent London _Times_, San Francisco Press Club."

"Go on, go on!" said Gordon, desperately. "I'm getting used to it now.
Go on!"

"American consul, Opeki," read Stedman. "Home Secretary desires you to
furnish list of names English residents killed during shelling of Opeki
by ship of war _Kaiser_, and estimate of amount property destroyed.
Stoughton, British Embassy, Washington."

"Stedman!" cried Gordon, jumping to his feet, "there's a mistake here
somewhere. These people cannot all have made my message read like that.
Some one has altered it, and now I have got to make these people here
live up to that message, whether they like being massacred and blown up
or not. Don't answer any of those messages, except t