A sombre youth， glowering， and speaking only at therarest times， Felipe was but negatively “loco.” On shorehe generally refused all conversation. He seemed to knowthat he was badly handicapped on land， where so manykinds of understanding are needed； but on the water hisone talent set him equal with most men. Few sailors whomGod had carefully and completely made could handle asailboat as well. Five points nearer the wind than the bestof them he could sail his sloop. When the elements ragedand set other men to cowering， the deficiencies of Felipeseemed of little importance. He was a perfect sailor， if animperfect man. He owned no boat， but worked amongthe crews of the schooners and sloops that skimmed thecoast， trading and freighting fruit out to the steamerswhere there was no harbor. It was through his famous skilland boldness on the sea， as well as for the pity felt for hismental imperfections， that he was recommended by thecollector as a suitable custodian of the captured sloop.
When the outcome of Don Sabas’ little pleasantryarrived in the form of the imposing and preposterouscommission， the collector smiled. He had not expectedsuch prompt and over whelming response to hisrecommendation. He despatched a muchacho at once tofetch the future admiral.
The collector waited in his official quarters. His officewas in the Calle Grande， and the sea breezes hummedthrough its windows all day. The collector， in white linenand canvas shoes， philandered with papers on an antiquedesk. A parrot， perched on a pen rack， seasoned theofficial tedium with a fire of choice Castilian imprecations.
Two rooms opened into the Collector’s. In one the clericalforce of young men of variegated complexions transactedwith glitter and parade their several duties. Through theopen door of the other room could be seen a bronzebabe， guiltless of clothing， that rollicked upon the floor.
In a grass hammock a thin woman， tinted a pale lemon，played a guitar and swung contentedly in the breeze.
Thus surrounded by the routine of his high duties andthe visible tokens of agreeable domesticity， the collector’sheart was further made happy by the power placed in hishands to brighten the fortunes of the “innocent” Felipe.
Felipe came and stood before the collector. He was a ladof twenty， not ill-favored in looks， but with an expressionof distant and pondering vacuity. He wore white cottontrousers， down the seams of which he had sewed red stripeswith some vague aim at military decoration. A flimsy blueshirt fell open at his throat； his feet were bare； he held inhis hand the cheapest of straw hats from the States.
“Senor Carrera，” said the collector， gravely， producing theshowy commission， “I have sent for you at the president’sbidding. This document that I present to you confersupon you the title of Admiral of this great republic， andgives you absolute command of the naval forces and fleetof our country. You may think， friend Felipe， that we haveno navy—but yes！ The sloop the Estrella del Noche， thatmy brave men captured from the coast smugglers， is to beplaced under your command. The boat is to be devoted tothe services of your country. You will be ready at all timesto convey officials of the government to points along thecoast where they may be obliged to visit. You will alsoact as a coast-guard to prevent， as far as you may be able，the crime of smuggling. You will uphold the honor andprestige of your country at sea， and endeavor to placeAnchuria among the proudest naval powers of the world.
These are your instructions as the Minister of War desiresme to convey them to you. Por Dios！ I do not know howall this is to be accomplished， for not one word did hisletter contain in respect to a crew or to the expensesof this navy. Perhaps you are to provide a crew yourself，Senor Admiral—I do not know—but it is a very highhonor that has descended upon you. I now hand you yourcommission. When you are ready for the boat I will giveorders that she shall be made over into your charge. Thatis as far as my instructions go.”
Felipe took the commission that the collector handed tohim. He gazed through the open window at the sea for amoment， with his customary expression of deep but vainpondering. Then he turned without having spoken a word，and walked swiftly away through the hot sand of the street.
“Pobrecito loco！” sighed the collector； and the parrot onthe pen racks screeched “Loco！ —loco！ —loco！”