s stand upon the top step of Casa Morena. As
the oldest member of the cabinet, custom had decreed that he should
make the address of welcome, presenting the keys of the official
residence to the president at its close.

General Pilar was one of the most distinguished citizens of the
republic. Hero of three wars and innumerable revolutions, he was an
honoured guest at European courts and camps. An eloquent speaker
and a friend to the people, he represented the highest type of the
Anchurians.

Holding in his hand the gilt keys of Casa Morena, he began his
address in a historical form, touching upon each administration
and the advance of civilization and prosperity from the first dim
striving after liberty down to present times. Arriving at the
regime of President Losada, at which point, according to precedent,
he should have delivered a eulogy upon its wise conduct and the
happiness of the people, General Pilar paused. Then he silently held
up the bunch of keys high above his head, with his eyes closely
regarding it. The ribbon with which they were bound fluttered in the
breeze.

"It still blows," cried the speaker, exultantly. "Citizens of
Anchuria, give thanks to the saints this night that our air is still
free."

Thus disposing of Losada's administration, he abruptly reverted
to that of Olivarra, Anchuria's most popular ruler. Olivarra had
been assassinated nine years before while in the prime of life and
usefulness. A faction of the Liberal party led by Losada himself had
been accused of the deed. Whether guilty or not, it was eight years
before the ambitious and scheming Losada had gained his goal.

Upon this theme General Pilar's eloquence was loosed. He drew the
picture of the beneficent Olivarra with a loving hand. He reminded
the people of the peace, the security and the happiness they had
enjoyed during that period. He recalled in vivid detail and with
significant contrast the last winter sojourn of President Olivarra
in Coralio, when his appearance at their fiestas was the signal for
thundering _vivas_ of love and approbation.

The first public expression of sentiment from the people that day
followed. A low, sustained murmur went among them like the surf
rolling along the shore.

"Ten dollars to a dinner at the Saint Charles," remarked Mr.
Vincenti, "that _rouge_ wins."

"I never bet against my own interests," said Captain Cronin, lighting
a cigar. "Long-winded old boy, for his age. What's he talki