you. You go with Ferrero now? Ver-ry good.' Juan stood up and with his
cane he saluted profoundly. 'Good-by, sir. Ferrero, a Dios.' He went as
he came, with a rush.

"Stirred up by Juan, Cogan thought of calling that very night on Luis
Roca and his family. But he did not go, nor next day, nor that week. He
saw Juan regularly in the bull-ring, and always Juan urged him afresh,
but Cogan did not go to see the Rocas. 'Later,' perhaps, he said to
Juan, who stared wonderingly at him but did not ask why.

"And so things went for several weeks, until that morning when the
American battle fleet came steaming into Callao harbor. Cogan was one of
twenty or thirty thousand who crowded to the stone pier that day, and
when the beautiful white ships came rounding in, he felt very proud. And
the yellow tongues of flame flashing and the white sides of the great
war-ships gleaming through the smoke--it made a tremendous impression on
everybody; but to Cogan's eyes the tears came. People near him said,
'Americano?' inquiringly, to which Cogan's bull-fighting friends
replied--'Si, si, Americano,' and added a 'Heep, heep, hoo-raw!' to make
Cogan feel more at home.

"That was the morning that Torellas told Cogan that if he wished he
could go into the ring on the occasion of the festival which Peru was to
hold in honor of the American fleet. And such an occasion it was to be!
A welcome from a younger to the older republic. There was to be a great
bull-fight, at which Torellas was to make his last appearance before
going to Spain.

"Spain! Madrid! The highest of honors! Cogan looked at Torellas, but the
matador didn't seem to be so very glad."

The pump-man seemed to be listening to something. "Hear 'em?" he asked.

The passenger cocked up his ears, and heard them--several voices from
the depths of one of the tanks.

"It's No. 11," explained the pump-man, and hurried away. The passenger
saw him disappear into a hatchway. Almost immediately the voices ceased
and shortly four deck-hands hurriedly emerged. Kieran followed. "Beat
it!" he ordered, and they somewhat sheepishly went forward.

Kieran came aft. "What was the trouble?" asked the passenger.

"That bunch of bone-heads,"--Kieran was talking. He was also pinching
the crust from the wick of a candle he held--"they sneaked down there to
have a little game. And brought this candle with them--for light. Three
weeks ago, up to the dock in Bayonne, a bunch lit a candle to look for
som