The　Consul
  by　Richard　Harding　Davis
  For　over　forty　years；　in　one　part　of　the　world　or　another；　old　man
  Marshall　had；　served　his　country　as　a　United　States　consul。　He　had
  been　appointed　by　Lincoln。　For　a　quarter　of　a　century　that　fact　was
  his　distinction。　It　was　now　his　epitaph。　But　in　former　years；　as
  each　new　administration　succeeded　the　old；　it　had　again　and　again
  saved　his　official　head。　When　victorious　and　voracious
  place…hunters；　searching　the　map　of　the　world　for　spoils；　dug　out
  his　hiding…place　and　demanded　his　consular　sign　as　a　reward　for　a
  younger　and　more　aggressive　party　worker；　the　ghost　of　the　dead
  President　protected　him。　In　the　State　Department；　Marshall　had
  become　a　tradition。　〃You　can't　touch　Him！〃　the　State　Department
  would　say；　〃why；　HE　was　appointed　by　Lincoln！〃　Secretly；　for　this
  weapon　against　the　hungry　headhunters；　the　department　was
  infinitely　grateful。　Old　man　Marshall　was　a　consul　after　its　own
  heart。　Like　a　soldier；　he　was　obedient；　disciplined；　wherever　he
  was　sent；　there；　without　question；　he　would　go。　Never　against
  exile；　against　ill…health；　against　climate　did　he　make　complaint。
  Nor　when　he　was　moved　on　and　down　to　make　way　for　some
  ne'er…do…well　with　influence；　with　a　brother…in…　law　in　the　Senate；
  with　a　cousin　owning　a　newspaper；　with　rich　relatives　who　desired
  him　to　drink　himself　to　death　at　the　expense　of　the　government
  rather　than　at　their　own；　did　old　man　Marshall　point　to　his　record
  as　a　claim　for　more　just　treatment。
  And　it　had　been　an　excellent　record。　His　official　reports；　in　a
  quaint；　stately　hand；　were　models　of　English；　full　of　information；
  intelligent；　valuable；　well　observed。　And　those　few　of　his
  countrymen；　who　stumbled　upon　him　in　the　out…of…　the…world　places
  to　which　of　late　he　had　been　banished；　wrote　of　him　to　the
  department　in　terms　of　admiration　and　awe。　Never　had　he　or　his
  friends　petitioned　for　promotion；　until　it　was　at　last　apparent
  that；　save　for　his　record　and　the　memory　of　his　dead　patron；　he　had
  no　friends。　But；　still　in　the　department　the　tradition　held　and；
  though　he　was　not　advanced；　he　was　not　dismissed。
  〃If　that　old　man's　been　feeding　from　the　public　trough　ever　since
  the　Civil　War；〃　protested　a　〃practical〃　politician；　〃it　seems　to
  me；　Mr。　Secretary；　that　he's　about　had　his　share。　Ain't　it　time　he
  give　some　one　else　a　bite？　Some　of　us　that　has；　done　the　work；　that
  has　borne　the　brunt〃
  〃This　place　he　now　holds；〃　interrupted　the　Secretary　of　State
  suavely；　〃is　one　hardly　commensurate　with　services　like　yours。　I
  can't　pronounce　the　name　of　it；　and　I'm　not　sure　just　where　it　is；
  but　I　see　that；　of　the　last　six　consuls　we　sent　there；　three
  resigned　within　a　month　and　the　other　three　died　of　yellow…fever。
  Still；　if　you。　insist〃
  The　practical　politician　reconsidered　hastily。　〃I'm　not　the　sort；〃
  he　protested；　〃to　turn　out　a　man　appointed　by　our　martyred
  President。　Besides；　he's　so　old　now；　if　the　fever　don't　catch　him；
  he'll　die　of　old　age；　anyway。〃
  The　Secretary　coughed　uncomfortably。　〃And　they　say；〃　he　murmured；
  〃republics　are　ungrateful。〃
  〃I　don't　quite　get　that；〃　said　the　practical　politician。
  Of　Porto　Banos；　of　the　Republic　of　Colombia；　where　as　consul　Mr。
  Marshall　was　upholding　the　dignity　of　the　United　States；　little
  could　be　said　except　that　it　possessed　a　sure　harbor。　When　driven
  from　the　Caribbean　Sea　by　stress　of　weather；　the　largest　of　ocean
  tramps；　and　even　battle…ships；　could　find　in　its　protecting　arms　of
  coral　a　safe　shelter。　But；　as　young　Mr。　Aiken；　the　wireless
  operator；　pointed　out；　unless　driven　by　a　hurricane　and　the　fear　of
  death；　no　one　ever　visited　it。　Back　of　the　ancient　wharfs；　that
  dated　from　the　days　when　Porto　Banos　was　a　receiver　of　stolen　goods
  for　buccaneers　and　pirates；　were　rows　of　thatched　huts；　streets；
  according　to　the　season；　of　dust　or　mud；　a　few　iron…barred；
  jail…like　barracks；　customhouses；　municipal　buildings；　and　the
  whitewashed　adobe　houses　of　the　consuls。　The　backyard　of　the　town
  was　a　swamp。　Through　this　at　five　each　morning　a　rusty　engine
  pulled　a　train　of　flat　cars　to　the　base　of　the　mountains；　and；　if
  meanwhile　the　rails　had　not　disappeared　into　the　swamp；　at　five　in
  the　evening　brought　back　the　flat　cars　laden　with　odorous
  coffeesacks。
  In　the　daily　life　of　Porto　Banos；　waiting　for　the　return　of　the
  train；　and　betting　if　it　would　return；　was　the　chief　interest。　Each
  night　the　consuls；　the　foreign　residents；　the　wireless　operator；
  the　manager　of　the　rusty　railroad　met　for　dinner。　There　at　the　head
  of　the　long　table；　by　virtue　of　his　years；　of　his　courtesy　and
  distinguished　manner；　of　his　office；　Mr。　Marshall　presided。　Of　the
  little　band　of　exiles　he　was　the　chosen　ruler。　His　rule　was　gentle。
  By　force　of　example　he　had　made　existence　in　Porto　Banos　more
  possible。　For　women　and　children　Porto　Banos　was　a　death…trap；　and
  before　〃old　man　Marshall〃　came　there　had　been　no　influence　to
  remind　the　enforced　bachelors　of　other　days。
  They　had　lost　interest；　had　grown　lax；　irritable；　morose。　Their
  white　duck　was　seldom　white。　Their　cheeks　were　unshaven。　When　the
  sun　sank　into　the　swamp　and　the　heat　still　turned　Porto　Banos　into
  a　Turkish　bath；　they　threw　dice　on　the　greasy　tables　of　the　Cafe
  Bolivar　for　drinks。　The　petty　gambling　led　to　petty　quarrels；　the
  drinks　to　fever。　The　coming　of　Mr。　Marshall　changed　that。　His
  standard　of　life；　his　tact；　his　worldly　wisdom；　his　cheerful
  courtesy；　his　fastidious　personal　neatness　shamed　the　younger　men；
  the　desire　to　please　him；　to；　stand　well　in　his　good　opinion；
  brought　back　pride　and　self…esteem。
  The　lieutenant　of　her　Majesty's　gun…boat　PLOVER　noted　the　change。
  〃Used　to　be；〃　he　exclaimed；　〃you　couldn't　get　out　of　the　Cafe
  Bolivar　without　some　one　sticking　a　knife　in　you；　now　it's　a
  debating　club。　They　all　sit　round　a　table　and　listen　to　an　old
  gentleman　talk　world　politics。〃
  If　Henry　Marshall　brought　content　to　the　exiles　of　Porto　Banos；
  there　was　little　in　return　that　Porto　Banos　could　give　to　him。
  Magazines　and　correspondents　in　six　languages　kept　him　in　touch
  with　those　foreign　lands　in　which　he　had　represented　his　country；
  but　of　the　country　he　had　represented；　newspapers　and　periodicals
  showed　him　only　too　clearly　that　in　forty　years　it　had　grown　away
  from　him；　had　changed　beyond　recognition。
  When　last　he　had　called　at　the　State　Department；　he　had　been　made
  to　feel　he　was　a　man　without　a　country；　and　when　he　visited　his
  home　town　in　Vermont；　he　was　looked　upon　as　a　Rip　Van　Winkle。　Those
  of　his　boyhood　friends　who　were　not　dead　had　long　thought　of　him　as
  dead。　And　the　sleepy；　pretty　village　had　become　a　bustling
  commercial　centre。　In　the　lanes　where；　as　a　young　man；　he　had
  walked　among　wheatfields；　trolley…cars　whirled　between　rows　of
  mills　and　factories。　The　children　had　grown　to　manhood；　with
  children　of　their　own。
  Like　a　ghost；　he　searched　for　house　after　house；　where　once　he　had
  been　made　welcome；　only　to　find　in　its　place　a　towering　office
  building。　〃All　had　gone；　the　old　familiar　faces。〃　In　vain　he
  scanned　even　the　shop　fronts　for　a　friendly；　homelike　name。　Whether
  the　fault　was　his；　whether　he　would　better　have　served　his　own
  interests　than　those　of　his　government；　it　now　was　too　late　to
  determine。　In　his　own　home；　he　was　a　stranger　among　strangers。　In
  the　service　he　had　so　faithfully　followed；　rank　by　rank；　he　had
  been　dropped；　until　now　he；　who　twice　had　been　a　consul…general；
  was　an　exile；　banished　to　a　fever　swamp。　The　great　Ship　of　State
  had　dropped　him　overside；　had　〃marooned〃　him；　and　sailed　away。
  Twice　a　day　he　walked　along　the　shell　road　to　the　Cafe　Bolivar；　and
  back　again　to　the　consulate。　There；　as　he　entered　the　outer　office；
  Jose〃　the　Colombian　clerk；　would　rise　and　bow　profoundly。
  〃Any　papers　for　me　to　sign；　Jose？　〃　the　consul　would　ask。
  〃Not　to…day；　Excellency；　〃the　clerk　would　reply。　Then　Jose　would
  return　to　writing　a　letter　to　his　lady…love；　not　that　there　was
  any…thing　to　tell　her；　but　because　writing　on　the　official　paper　of
  the　consulate　gave　him　importance　in　his　eyes；　and　in　hers。　And　in
  the　inner　office　the　consul　would　continue　to　gaze　at　the　empty
  harbor；　the　empty　coral　reefs；　the　empty；　burning　sky。
  The　little　band　of　exiles　were　at　second　break　fast　when　the
  wireless　man　came　in　late　to　announce　that　a　Red　D。　boat　and　the
  island　of　Curacao　had　both　reported　a　hurricane　coming　north。　Also；
  that　much　concern　was　felt　for　the　safety　of　the　yacht　SERAPIS。
  Three　days　before；　in　advance　of　her　coming；　she　had　sent　a
  wireless　to　Wilhelmstad；　asking　the　captain　of　the　port　to　reserve
  a　berth　for　her。　She　expected　to　arrive　the　following　morning。　But
  for　forty…eight　hours　nothing　had　been　heard　from　her；　and　it　was
  believed　she　had　been　overhauled　by　the　hurricane。　Owing　to　the
  presence　on　board　of　Senator　Hanley；　the　closest　friend　of　the　new
  President；　the　man　who　had　made　him　president；　much　concern　was
  felt　at　Washington。　To　try　to　pick　her　up　by　wireless；　the　gun…boat
  NEWARK　had　been　ordered　from　Culebra；　the　cruiser　RALEIGH；　with
  Admiral　Hardy　on　board；　from　Colon。　It　was　possible　she　would　seek
  shelter　at　Porto　Banos。　The　consul　was　ordered　to　report。
  As　Marshal