So engrossed were the lads in noting the famous Japanese statesmen and celebrities of two foreign wars, whose likenesses had become familiar to them from studies of the history of this wonderful island kingdom, that an elderly gentleman had been striving to speak to them for several moments before they became aware of his presence.
Turning, both midshipmen grasped eagerly the outstretched hand of the American ambassador.
“I have you both here, after all, and I mean to hold on to you if I must imprison you to do it,” the Honorable Henry Tillotson exclaimed, shaking their hands warmly and smiling down upon them from his stand on the grassy embankment.
“Nothing would suit us better, eh, Syd?” Phil cried gladly.
A young girl, dressed all in white, stood at the ambassador’s side, but he paid her no attention, so delighted was he in welcoming the two lads. She smiled happily upon the scene, while her gloved hand plucked her father’s arm gently to remind him of her presence.
The passing crowd glanced admiringly at the group, and especially at the graceful American girl.
The ambassador was still oblivious of her. His kindly face beamed with pleasure, and he was loath to give up the sturdy brown hands within his own.
Then came a sudden pause, and the smile on Mr. Tillotson’s face died suddenly away. His thoughts had quickly traveled far off to the Philippine Islands, where he had last seen these young men beside him. He had gone there to bring away the body of an only boy—a son whom he had loved, but who had grieved his father’s heart by his wild and erratic life. A soldier’s grave had sealed within it his boy and all the bitterness that had been in the father’s breast for him. And these young men, barely more than boys, had been important actors in the closing tragedy of that son’s life. One of them had led a forlorn hope in an endeavor to save him from the Filipino traitor who had taken his life, and yet there this boy stood—Philip Perry—in the bright sunlight, and he would never see his son again.
But his boy had been a soldier, and had died a soldier’s death. The joy of the present must not be marred.
The ambassador was being attentively observed by the young girl at his elbow; she had seen his keen joy upon greeting these two striking young American officers, and then almost immediately had seen the smile fade and his shoulders perceptibly droop, and her womanly instinct was at once alert to help him overcome this burden of sorrow and dead hope.