ggested Stuart.

"They're not likely to be," his friend replied, "we just caught the
southern end of the hurricane here--lucky we didn't get the middle!--and
so Trinidad is likely to have escaped entirely. But you'll have to hurry
to catch that steamer. I'll get in touch with Ol' Doc, the best way I
can, and send your trunk on to you down there. Got your typewriter?
That's all right, then. Write your story on the boat. Now, hurry up!
Here!"

He shouted to a passing negro.

"Go down to the pier, Pierre, get a boat, any boat, and take this
passenger. He's got to catch the steamer."

"Me catch um!"

And he did, though it was by the narrowest margin, for the mail steamer
had steam up, and only waited until this last passenger should come
aboard.

Stuart had counted on being able to enrich his account of the hurricane
with personal stories from the passengers on the steamer, all of whom
had been through the disaster, some on board ship and some ashore. There
was no chance of this. Although a glorious day, not a soul among the
passengers was on deck. All were sleeping, for all, alike, had waked and
watched.

Stuart was dropping with weariness and sleep, but he remembered what the
Managing Editor had said to him about a "scoop" and he thought that this
might be the great opportunity of his life to make a reputation for
himself on his first trip out. A well-placed half-sovereign with the
deck steward brought him a cup of strong coffee every two hours, and
though his mind was fogged with weariness, so vivid had been his
impressions that they could not help but be thrilling.

Though one of the most richly verdant of all the West India islands,
Trinidad had little beauty to Stuart, on his first sight of it. He saw
it through a haze of weariness, his eyes red-rimmed through lack of
sleep. The harbor is shallow, and Stuart, like other passengers, landed
in a launch, but he had eyes only for one thing--the cable office. Since
his only luggage consisted of a portable typewriter--his trunk having
been left behind at "Ol' Doc's"--the customs' examination was brief.

At the Cable Office, Stuart learned, to his delight, that not a message
had either reached the office or gone out about the Barbados hurricane.
He had a scoop. He put his story on the wires, staggered across the
street to the nearest hotel, threw off coat and boots and dropped upon
the bed in an exhausted slumber. And, as an undercurrent to his dreams,
rang the t