do you know？ See that red cross upon the blue and whiteground！ You never saw it before？ Seguramente no. It isthe naval flag of your country. Mire！ This rotten tub westand upon is its navy—that dead cockatoo lying there wasits commander—that stroke of cutlass and single pistolshot a sea battle. All a piece of absurd foolery， I grantyou—but authentic. There has never been another flaglike this， and there never will be another. No. It is uniquein the whole world. Yes. Think of what that means to acollector of flags！ Do you know， Coronel mio， how manygolden crowns Herr Grunitz would give for this flag？ Tenthousand， likely. Well， a hundred thousand would not buyit. Beautiful flag！ Only flag！ Little devil of a most heavenbornflag！ O’he！ old grumbler beyond the ocean. Wait tillDon Sabas comes again to the Konigin Strasse. He will letyou kneel and touch the folds of it with one finger. O-he！
old spectacled ransacker of the world！”
Forgotten was the impotent revolution， the danger， theloss， the gall of defeat. Possessed solely by the inordinateand unparalleled passion of the collector， he strode up anddown the little deck， clasping to his breast with one handthe paragon of a flag. He snapped his fingers triumphantlytoward the east. He shouted the paean to his prize intrumpet tones， as though he would make old Grunitz hearin his musty den beyond the sea.
They were waiting， on the Salvador， to welcome them.
The sloop came close alongside the steamer where hersides were sliced almost to the lower deck for the loadingof fruit. The sailors of the Salvador grappled and held herthere.
Captain McLeod leaned over the side.
“Well， senor， the jig is up， I’m told.”
“The jig is up？” Don Sabas looked perplexed for a moment.
“That revolution—ah， yes！” With a shrug of his shoulders hedismissed the matter.
The captain learned of the escape and the imprisonedcrew.
“Caribs！” he said； “no harm in them.” He slipped downinto the sloop and kicked loose the hasp of the hatch. Theblack fellows came tumbling up， sweating but grinning.
“Hey！ black boys！” said the captain， in a dialect of hisown； “you sabe， catchy boat and vamos back same placequick.”
They saw him point to themselves， the sloop and Coralio.
“Yas， yas！” they cried， with broader grins and many nods.
The four—Don Sabas， the two officers and the captain—moved to quit the sloop. Don Sabas lagged a little behind，looking at the still form of the late admiral， sprawled inhis paltry trappings.
“Pobrecito loco，” he said softly.
He was a brilliant cosmopolite and a cognoscente ofhigh rank； but， after all， he was of the same race and bloodand instinct as this people. Even as the simple paisanos ofCoralio had said it， so said Don Sabas. Without a smile， helooked， and said， “The poor little crazed one！”
Stooping he raised the limp shoulders， drew the pricelessand induplicable flag under them and over the breast，pinning it there with the diamond star of the Order of SanCarlos that he took from the collar of his own coat.
He followed after the others， and stood with themupon the deck of the Salvador. The sailors that steadiedEl Nacional shoved her off. The jabbering Caribs hauledaway at the rigging； the sloop headed for the shore.
And Herr Grunitz’s collection of naval flags was still thefinest in the world.
