ceptible of some things--but not in business
matters. One day she filed an innocent little telegram to her paper,
saying, "For ice cream read typhoid." The operator glanced at it and
said, "You'll have to get Captain B----'s O. K. on that message before I
can send it."

She talked sweetly to him, but that didn't happen to be one of his
"susceptible" days. Then she came to me, and as my "susceptibility" had
run to a pretty low ebb I refused to permit the message to go on, on
account of its hidden meaning.

"Oh, pshaw! Captain, I wrote a story for my paper and in it described
the death of a man from the effects of eating too much ice cream, and
now I learn that he died of typhoid fever."

I was pretty hard-headed that morning and couldn't assist the lady and
she left the office vowing vengeance. The next edition of her paper
contained the most charmingly sarcastic article about the red-headed,
white-shoed censor I have ever seen, but I had become case-hardened by
this time and did not mind it in the least.

It might be supposed that as soon as the army had sailed and the
correspondents had gone, that the censorship duties would be lighter.
They were, officially, but otherwise they became harder than ever. The
army had gone, but the women had been left behind. The husbands were
away--fighting--dying--while the wives were waiting with dry eyes and
aching hearts for the news that would mean life or death to them. There
were some forty wives, daughters, and sweethearts remaining in the Tampa
Bay hotel, and to them the censor became a most interesting party. They
knew that any news that came to Tampa would come through him, and they
wanted it whether his orders would allow him to divulge it or not.
Before, I had to contend with the importunities of zealous
correspondents, now it was the longing eyes of sweet women whose hearts
were breaking with suspense, whose lives had stood still since the 14th
day of June when the fleet sailed away. Of the two, I would rather
contend with the former.

The long and trying days dragged slowly by and still no news. Finally,
on the 22nd of June, it was known that the army was landing; June 24th,
the Guasimas fight of the cavalry division took place, and from that
time on life was made miserable for me by importunate women. Many
telegrams--yes, hundreds of them--came to me every day, and each time
one of those cursed little yellow envelopes was put in my hands, if I
happened to be in the