At five o'clock there was an awkward moment. The Royal Mail boat,
having taken on her cargo, passed out of the harbor on her way to
Jamaica, and dipped her colors. Senator Hanley, abandoned to his
fate, observed her departure in silence.
Livingstone, hovering at his side, asked sympathetically: "Have
they answered your cable, sir?" "They have," said Hanley gruffly.
"Was it--was it satisfactory?" pursued the diplomat. "It WAS," said
the senator, with emphasis.
Far from discouraged, Livingstone continued his inquiries.
"And when," he asked eagerly, "are you going to tell him?"
"Now!" said the senator.
The guests were leaving the ship. When all were seated in the
admiral's steam launch, the admiral descended the accommodation
ladder and himself picked up the tiller ropes.
"Mr. Marshall," he called, "when I bring the launch broadside to
the ship and stop her, you will stand ready to receive the consul's
salute."
Involuntarily, Marshall uttered an exclamation of protest. He had
forgotten that on leaving the war-ship, as consul, he was entitled
to seven guns. Had he remembered, he would have insisted that the
ceremony be omitted. He knew that the admiral wished to show his
loyalty, knew that his old friend was now paying him this honor
only as a rebuke to Hanley. But the ceremony was no longer an
honor. Hanley had made of it a mockery. It served only to emphasize
what had been taken from him. But, without a scene, it now was too
late to avoid it.
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