"What a man that is!" Cliffe remarked. "If they were all like him in Congress, there'd be a big improvement in our politics—and I guess you'd have some use for a few of his kind at Westminster."
"That's true," Grahame agreed. "I can't say that such men are scarce, but as a rule they don't come to the top. They do what's demanded of them, and then quietly fall out of sight."
The next morning they set out for the coast. The Enchantress was in the roadstead when they reached the port, and they went straight on board. Macallister met them at the gangway, and there was deep feeling in his face as he shook hands with his comrades; but a few moments later he surveyed the group with a grin. Walthew had helped Evelyn on board, and Blanca stood near Grahame.
"I'm thinking ye're no' sorted right," he said; and when Evelyn blushed he resumed with a chuckle: "Ye need no' tell me; I kenned what would happen, and I wish ye all happiness."
He turned with a flourish to Don Martin.
"We'd ha' dressed the ship for ye, señor, only our flags are a bit ragged, and I couldna' find the one ye have served so weel."
"Thank you," said Don Martin. "We hope our flag will be better known before long."
Macallister hurried below to raise steam, but it was some time before they got a working pressure, and dusk was falling when the windlass hauled in the rattling cable and Grahame rang the telegraph. The propeller churned the phosphorescent sea, the Enchantress forged ahead, and the white town began to fade into the haze astern.
Don Martin leaned upon the taffrail, watching the dim littoral, until it melted from his sight and only the black cordillera in the background cut against the sky. Then he joined the group about the deck-house and lighted a cigarette.