Such being the situation, Billy determined that his first act to be reported should be of a nature to cause the president active mental anguish. With his guard at his heels he went directly to the cable station, and to the Secretary of State of the United States addressed this message: "President refuses my pay; threatens shoot;wireless nearest war-ship proceed here full speed. William Barlow."Billy and the director of telegraphs, who out of office hours was a field-marshal, and when not in his shirt-sleeves always appeared in uniform, went over each word of the cablegram together. When Billy was assured that the field-marshal had grasped the full significance of it he took it back and added, "Love to Aunt Maria."The extra words cost four dollars and eighty cents gold, but, as they suggested ties of blood between himself and the Secretary of State, they seemed advisable. In the account-book in which he recorded his daily expenditures Billy credited the item to "life-insurance."The revised cablegram caused the field-marshal deep concern. He frowned at Billy ferociously.
"I will forward this at once," he promised. "But, I warn you," he added, "I deliver also a copy to MY president!"Billy sighed hopefully.
"You might deliver the copy first," he suggested.
From the cable station Billy, still accompanied by his faithful retainers, returned to the power-house. There he bade farewell to the black brothers who had been his assistants, and upon one of them pressed a sum of money.
As they parted, this one, as though giving the pass-word of a secret society, chanted solemnly:
"A BUIT BEURES JUSTE!" And Billy clasped his hand and nodded.
At the office of the Royal Dutch West India Line Billy purchased a ticket to New York and inquired were there many passengers. "The ship is empty," said the agent.
"I am glad," said Billy, "for one of my assistants may come with me. He also is being deported.""You can have as many cabins as you want," said the agent. "We are so sorry to see you go that we will try to make you feel you leave us on your private yacht."The next two hours Billy spent in seeking out those acquaintances from whom he could borrow money. He found that by asking for it in homoeopathic doses he was able to shame the foreign colony into loaning him all of one hundred dollars. This, with what he had in hand, would take Claire and himself to New York and for a week keep them alive. After that he must find work or they must starve. The one whose features seemed familiar replied:
"Still, we are leaving to-night," he said; "not on a steamer, but on a war-ship.""A war-ship?" cried Billy. His heart beat at high speed. "Then," he exclaimed, "you are a naval officer?"The young man shook his head and, as though challenging Billy to make another guess, smiled.
"Then," Billy complied eagerly, "you are a diplomat! Are you our new minister?"One of the other young men exclaimed reproachfully:
"You know him perfectly well!" he protested. "You've seen his picture thousands of times."With awe and pride he placed his hand on Billy's arm and with the other pointed at the one in the Panama hat.
"It's Harry St. Clair," he announced. "Harry St.Clair, the King of the Movies!""The King of the Movies," repeated Billy. His disappointment was so keen as to be embarrassing.
"Oh!" he exclaimed, "I thought you----" Then he remembered his manners. "Glad to meet you," he said. "Seen you on the screen."Again his own troubles took precedence. "Did you say," he demanded, "One of our war-ships is coming here TO-DAY?""Coming to take me to Santo Domingo," explained Mr. St. Clair. He spoke airily, as though to him as a means of locomotion battle-ships were as trolley-cars. The Planter's punch, which was something he had never before encountered, encouraged the great young man to unbend. He explained further and fully, and Billy, his mind intent upon his own affair, pretended to listen.
The United States Government, Mr. St. Clair explained, was assisting him and the Apollo Film Company in producing the eight-reel film entitled "The Man Behind the Gun."With it the Navy Department plotted to advertise the navy and encourage recruiting. In moving pictures, in the form of a story, with love interest, villain, comic relief, and thrills, it would show the life of American bluejackets afloat and ashore, at home and abroad. They would be seen at Yokohama playing baseball with Tokio University; in the courtyard of the Vatican receiving the blessing of the Pope; at Waikiki riding the breakers on a scrubbing-board; in the Philippines eating cocoanuts in the shade of the sheltering palm, and in Brooklyn in the Y. M. C. A. club, in the shadow of the New York sky-scrapers, playing billiards and reading the sporting extras.
As it would be illustrated on the film the life of "The Man Behind the Gun" was one of luxurious ease. In it coal- passing, standing watch in a blizzard, and washing down decks, cold and unsympathetic, held no part. But to prove that the life of Jack was not all play he would be seen fighting for the flag. That was where, as "Lieutenant Hardy, U. S. A.," the King of the Movies entered.
"Our company arrived in Santo Domingo last week," he explained.
"And they're waiting for me now. I'm to lead the attack on the fortress. We land in shore boats under the guns of the ship and Itake the fortress. First, we show the ship clearing for action and the men lowering the boats and pulling for shore. Then we cut back to show the gun-crews serving the guns. Then we jump to the landing-party wading through the breakers. I lead them. The man who is carrying the flag gets shot and drops in the surf. I pick him up, put him on my shoulder, and carry him and the flag to the beach, where----"Billy suddenly awoke. His tone was one of excited interest.
"You got a uniform?" he demanded.
