little boy brought it while
you were out at lunch."

He gave it me--a little dirty envelope, with an illiterate scrawl. I
opened it carelessly, but as my eye fell on the President's hand, I
started in amazement. The note was dated "Saturday--From on board _The
Songstress_," and ran as follows:

"Dear Mr. Martin: I must confess
to having underrated your courage
and abilities. If you care to put them
at my disposal now, I will accept them.
In the other event, I must refer you to
my public announcement. In any case
it may be useful to you to know that
McGregor designs to marry Signorina
Nugent. I fear that on my return it
will be hardly consistent with my public
duties to spare your life (unless you
accept my present offer), but I shall
always look back to your acquaintance
with pleasure. I have, if you will allow
me to say so, seldom met a young man
with such natural gifts for finance and
politics. I shall anchor five miles out
from Whittingham to-night (for I know
you have no ships), and if you join me,
well and good. If not, I shall consider
your decision irrevocable.

"Believe me, dear Mr. Martin, faithfully
yours,

"MARCUS W. WHITTINGHAM,

"President of the Republic of Aureataland."

It is a pleasant thing, as has been remarked, _laudari a laudato
viro_, and the President's praise was grateful to me. But I did not
see my way to fall in with his views. He said nothing about the money,
but I knew well that its return would be a condition of any alliance
between us. Again, I was sure that he also "designed to marry the
signorina," and, if I must have a rival on the spot, I preferred
McGregor in that capacity. Lastly, I thought that, after all, there is
a decency in things, and I had better stick to my party. I did not,
however, tell McGregor about the letter, merely sending him a line to
say I had heard that _The Songstress_ was hovering a few miles off,
and he had better look out.

This done, I resumed my interrupted progress to the signorina's. When
I was shown in, she greeted me kindly.

"I have had a letter from the President," I said.

"Yes," said she, "he told me he had written to you."

"Why, have you heard from him?"

"Yes, just a little note. He is rather cross with me."

"I can quite understand that. Would you like to see my letter?"

"Oh, yes," she replied carelessly.

She read it through and asked:

"Well, are you going over to him