to
him, I can't ask it to break its promise. As an American citizen Ward
is as much entitled to my help--officially--as Professor Peabody,
whatever his standing."

"Ward's a forger," protested Garland, "a fugitive from justice; and
Peabody is a scholar and a gentleman. I'm not keen about dead cities
myself--this one we're in now is dead enough for me--but if
civilization is demanding to know what Cobre was like eight hundred
years ago, civilization is entitled to find out, and Peabody seems the
man for the job. It's a shame to turn him down for a gang of grafters."

"Tell him to come and talk to me," said the minister.

"He rode over to the ruins of Copan last week," explained Garland,
"where the Harvard expedition is. But he's coming back to-morrow on
purpose to see you."

The consul had started toward the door when he suddenly returned.

"And there's some one else coming to see you," he said. "Some one," he
added anxiously, "you want to treat right. That's Monica Ward. She's
Chester Ward's sister, and you mustn't get her mixed up with anything I
told you about her brother. She's coming to ask you to help start a
Red Cross Society. She was a volunteer nurse in the hospital in the
last two revolutions, and what she saw makes her want to be sure she
won't see it again. She's taught the native ladies the 'first aid'
drill, and they expect you to be honorary president of the society.
You'd better accept."

Shaking his head, Garland smiled pityingly upon the new minister.

"You've got a swell chance to get your treaty," he declared. "Monica is
another one who will prevent it."

Everett sighed patiently.

"What," he demanded, "might her particular crime be; murder,
shoplifting, treason--"

"If her brother had to leave this country," interrupted Garland, "she'd
leave with him. And the people don't want that. Her pull is the same
as old man Goddard's. Everybody loves him and everybody loves her. I
love her," exclaimed the consul cheerfully; "the President loves her,
the sisters in the hospital, the chain-gang in the street, the
washerwomen in the river, the palace guard, everybody in this
flea-bitten, God-forsaken country loves Monica Ward--and when you meet
her you will, too."

Garland had again reached the door to the outer hall before Everett
called him back.

"If it is not a leading question," asked the minister, "what little
indiscretion in your life brought you to Amapala?"

Garland grinn