This tale might just as well have been christened Under Two Flags, for it was under two flags, and through the medium of a third one, that all the trouble worked itself out. But, since another and an earlier writer has had the bad taste to apply this desirable title to a creation frankly lacking in the first elements of that which is the truth, I am constrained, because of its unfortunate associations, to put it to one side and seek yet another—for I find myself restricted to the setting-down of none but sombre facts. And the facts in the matter are these:

One afternoon in late September it chanced that my personal affairs took me up into the twelfth story of one of the lofty office-buildings which rear themselves, crag-like, above the very fertile soil of those shadowy and narrow valleys, our down-town streets. What was my exact errand is here of no consequence. It is enough if I say that I was endeavoring to make a man see a certain thing in the same light in which I saw it, and that, after having failed most miserably in the attempt, I had risen to go, when he glanced out through the window and said, “You’re up in that sort of thing: tell me, what’s going on over yonder?”

I followed the direction of his glance, across a mile-wide wilderness of ill-assorted roofs and chimneys, to where the great tower of the regimental armory lifts its bulk above the brick-and-mortar dwarfs that cluster in its shadow. And there, upon the summit of the topmost flanking-turret, my eye caught the flutter of a speck of red bunting.

“That?” said I; “why, that’s a signal detachment at flag-practice. Well, I must be going. Sorry I can’t make you listen to reason.” And I went—to risk my life in the downward rush of an express elevator.

Now, that glance from the twelfth-story window sealed my fate for the rest of the afternoon. My good nature had been placed under heavy strain, and the never-ending rush and racket of the swarming streets jarred so tormentingly upon my tired head that—with the blessed recklessness of the boy who cares not one darn whether school keeps or not—I consigned business to total smash, swung myself upon a passing car, and was trundled gaily along towards freedom, sunlight, and the armory.

“For Kenryck will be there,” I told myself, “and I can talk to him. And my pipe will be there, and I can smoke it. And I can sit on the parapet wall, and look out over the harbor—and forget how infernally mean everything is.”

And Kenryck was there. I dropped off the car, walked down to the armory, dived into the staff-room to get my pipe from its pigeon-hole in my desk, dived into the armorer’s den after a bunch of matches, and then climbed up and up, flight after flight of narrow stairs, to the top of the main tower. And there, in luxurious ease, Kenryck sat in state upon a camp-stool: a note-book on his knee, a bull-dog jammed between his teeth, and his field-glasses well in play.

“Kenryck, I’m weary,” I announced, as my head emerged from the trap in the tower roof, “and I’ve come to—”

“Shut up, will you, for a minute,” said Kenryck cordially. “Hi! you, up there”—to the signalman twenty feet in the air above us, upon the little turret—“what’s that? How’s that last message? No enemy visible on Lexington road? Yes, that’s right. Down flag! Rest!” Then to me, “Hullo, old man. Pull the rest of yourself out of that hole, and come on deck. Royal old afternoon, isn’t it?”

I stepped up and out upon the tiles. “Don’t mind me in the least, Ken.,” I said. “I’ve not come to bother you. I’m only here for rest and peaceful contemplation. So go ahead with your wig-wagging, and I’ll be a non-combatant.”

“Oh, you’re no bother at all,” said Kenryck very kindly. “It’s the inquisitive maniacs who ask fool questions and think it’s queer that I don’t offer to teach ’em the whole code in five minutes—they’re the ones that make signalling an everlasting joy.”

“I suppose so,” said I, taking off my hat, to let the fresh breeze rumple its way through my hair. “But I’ve stopped your game, just the same. Wake up those flags of yours: I like to watch them waving.”

“You’ve stopped nothing,” protested Kenryck. “I’d been squinting through these glasses until my eyes ached, and I was just going to take a minute off, when you came popping up through the trap like the fairy in a pantomime.”

“I’m breaking in three new men,” he went on, in a lower tone. “One of ’em”—with a nod towards the turret—“I’ve got in the box up there: one of my sergeants has another, out on Corey Hill: and the third one’s in charge of still another sergeant, over across the river, in Cambridge, on the tower of Memorial Hall. Running a three-station circuit, you see. Message starts here, goes through the hill station, and lands on top of t’other tower: vice versa with the answer. I’m taking it easy, you’ll notice: just sitting here in the shade and keeping tabs on the Cambridge station through that embrasure. My man overhead calls off the signals from the hill: I jot ’em down: and so I can see that they tally with the original. Great system!”

“Great head!” said I: then, with an upward glance at the clean-cut face of the young soldier leaning easily against the parapet of the turret, “You’ve pulled in some good men, eh?”

“Beauties, all three of ’em!” said Kenryck enthusiastically; “just out of college; all from the same class. Only had ’em a trifle over three months, but they’ve picked up the trick to a charm. Clever? Well, rather! Just see how easily this boy handles his business.” And calling out—“Attention! Call ‘B’ station”—my friend the signal officer went on with his work.

For a time, as he told off the combinations to be made, I followed the fluttering of the swiftly dipping and rising flag. But the whole thing was Sanscrit to me, and it wasn’t long before I wearied of watching it. So when Kenryck, in an interval between messages, turned to me and said, “Simple enough, isn’t it? Begin to catch on?”—I answered, “Well, perhaps in about twenty years I might, but just at present the waving of a red flag conveys to me only four meanings—‘Auction,’ when it’s waved before a building; ‘Miss,’ when it’s waved across the face of a target; ‘Stop!’ when it’s waved in front of a railway train; and ‘Come ahead fast!’ when it’s waved in the face of an ugly bull.” And having thus frankly admitted myself a rank outsider, so far as concerned the science of signalling, I gave myself over to the soothing influence of tobacco and the contemplation of my surroundings.

It has been my fortune to find many a less attractive spot than the tiled roof of our armory tower, with its encircling parapet, broken by alternate embrasure and loop-holed merlon, and with its octagonal turret at one corner, standing—like a sentry on post—in bold relief against the sky. Moreover, the sun was warm, the breeze was cool, and the combination was altogether comforting. And I speedily forgot, one after another, the petty annoyances of my down-town day.

I stepped over to the breast-high wall, rested my elbows upon the capstone, dropped my chin into my hands, and gazed out over the world. Far down in the streets below I could see the pigmy shapes of men, busily crawling to and fro in the anxious chase after money, and seeming—they and their affairs, too—so pitifully insignificant. Which caused me to reflect that it would be good that all mankind should spend an hour each day upon a tower, to gain a better idea of the relative size of things. And I farther was impressed. But never mind. This is a tale of two towers, and I am allowing myself to neglect the other of the twain.

“Mother of Moses!” muttered Kenryck, just as I had turned—after a sweeping glance around the range of low, green hills which, upon three sides, hem in the city—to look out upon the harbor, with its gray-walled forts and glistening sails, “Mother of Moses! What ails the boys in Cambridge?”

“Can’t tell, I’m sure,” said I, looking across the river towards the spot where the other tower showed itself above the trees. “I fail to see signs of anything distressful. Time was when I knew what ailed the boys in Cambridge—but that time’s long gone by! What seems to be the excitement at the present moment?”

“That’s what I want to know,” said Kenryck, as the young fellow upon the turret began to call off the signals from the second station. “They’ve just sent this message—it’s being flagged over from the hill now—‘Big trouble here! Want advice. Shall we explain?’ Now what does that mean?” “Ask ’em,” said I promptly. “Wig-wag the information that I’m here—ready to furnish advice in car-load lots as soon as they’ve sent on their explanation.”

“Thanks!” said my friend, with dry politeness. “I’m more than fortunate in having you with me.” Then, to the man with the flag, “O.K. that last message, Millar, and add, ‘Explain.’”

Up and down, sidewise and to the front, went the flapping square of red bunting with its core of snowy white; while Kenryck, in readiness to catch the first responsive signal, trained his glasses upon the ‘cross-river station.

“Here it comes,” he said, as the distant speck of color awoke to spasmodic and rapid motion. “Now we shall be given understanding. Hello! the sergeant must be doing the flagging: Orcutt couldn’t send the words along at that rate of speed.”

“Translate for my benefit, Ken., will you?” said I, coming over to his side. “I’m consumed by curiosity. I’ll swear solemnly not to let any information fall into the hands of the enemy.”

“Pick up my note-book,” he answered hurriedly, without changing his position or allowing his eyes to wander for an instant from the opposite tower, “and scratch down what I give you. Ready? Well, then, start off with this: ‘Man—making—fuss—at—base—of—tower.’ Got that? ‘Says—Orcutt—owes—him—big—money.’”

“Yes I’ve got it: all of it,” said I, snapping a rubber band across the page as a check upon its tendency to get away from me in the fresh breeze. “Very interesting, so far. Go on, old man: give us another chapter of it. I’m waiting.”

“Ease away on your chatter, can’t you?” said Kenryck, a trifle earnestly. “You’ll get me all balled-up in my receiving. Here, take this: ‘Man’s—confounded—insolent: standing—in—street: shouting—all—sorts—of—abuse—up—at—Orcutt.’ There, the sergeant’s stopped sending, to give us a chance to digest what we already have.”

Word by word the message, unaltered by its transmission through the hands of the party at the second station, was passed down to us by the turret signalman. Something in his tone drew my attention, and I looked up at him. He was red in the face with suppressed emotion.

“Is your man Orcutt efficient with his hands?” I asked Kenryck.

“Ought to be,” he replied. “He played left guard on the eleven for a couple of years.”

“You’d better ask him, then,” I suggested, feeling that a rare opportunity for testing the fighting capacity of the volunteer service had arrived, “why he doesn’t fly down from his roost and punch the fellow’s head?”

“I will!” said Kenryck promptly. And off went the question on its trip around the circuit.

The reply came quickly back: “Citizen’s name is Boardman. Has policeman with him, with some sort of papers. Orcutt’s willing to punch citizen, but has serious doubts about punching policeman. Says it’s all mistake: doesn’t owe anybody in Cambridge.” All of which I carefully entered in the book, exactly as it was given to me.

“See here, Millar!” Kenryck shouted, as he caught the sound of laughter from overhead, “do you know anything about this business?” “I think I do, a little—if not a good deal,” admitted that young man in a choked sort of voice, grinning down at us through an embrasure. “Yes, I think I’m in a fairly good position for understanding the whole complication.”

“Humph! if it’s so almightily funny I fancy we’d better have more light on it,” said Kenryck, with much dignity. “We’ll flag over—‘Instructions coming: wait!’—and then I’ll trouble you to explain the meaning of all this foolishness.”

“It’s this way,” said the signalman, appearing at the parapet wall, after starting Kenryck’s order upon its travels: “Orcutt and I—you may have noticed it—look almost enough alike to be taken for twins, especially since he’s forced out that moustache of his. And that’s the key to the mystery.”

“Give the key a twist, then,” said Kenryck. “Proceed with your exposition.”

“To continue,” obediently went on the young man, “I’m the party for whom this Boardman is out gunning. He keeps a place where a lot of the students have club-tables, and I used to belong to a club of fellows that resorted there for nourishment—which, I may state, was not of the highest grade, though we paid a princely price for it. Well, last winter I had to be away from college for about three weeks, and I left without giving notice to Boardman. Which resulted in two claims: Boardman’s, that I owed him thirty dollars for three weeks’ un-eaten grub—and mine, that he ought to be struck by lightning for his superhuman nerve.”

“Ah! I have the clue now,” said Kenryck. “Come, let’s get to work on straightening out things. Pick up your flag, and—”

“But that’s not quite all of it,” interrupted the occupant of the turret. “You see, this man Boardman isn’t a pleasant person to have dealings with. He’s very rough-tongued, and never sand-papers down his sentences. And the last time we argued over our differences I was so displeased by his lack of breeding that I—well, he made me hot under my collar, and I hit him just above his. See?”

“Oho! he’s after you for assault, is he?” said Kenryck. “That’s pleasant for Orcutt!”

“Yes, for assault—and battery,” assented Millar. “And I judge that it may be very pleasant for Orcutt. For Boardman swore that he’d get square with me some day, and I fancy—though the reports from across the river don’t go much into details—that he’s considerably in earnest about doing the squaring-up without any farther delay.” And, in spite of the seriousness of the situation, he gave way to another fit of laughter.

“Ah, yes!” said Kenryck, frowning darkly upon his subordinate, “all this is amazingly ludicrous, isn’t it? But you’ll have an aching arm, just the same, before you get through with swinging that bamboo stick of yours: for we’ve got to flag this story over to Cambridge—and a very pretty bit of flagging it’ll make! Come, we’ve kept the other lads long enough on pins and needles and anxious seats: we must get to work.”

The message to be sent was a long one. I sat down upon Kenryck’s chair, pulled out my tobacco pouch, and charged my pipe afresh, for there seemed to be nothing requiring my immediate attention. Minute slipped after minute, while Kenryck’s voice kept along in steady monotone, and the bunting above our heads—whirring and flapping in intermittent accompaniment—busily went on with the task of changing the spoken words into the symbols of the code.

“There, that’ll keep the hill men busy for a time,” Kenryck observed, when the flag upon the turret gave a final downward sweep and then became still. “Phew! it was a long pull.”

“Why don’t you cut your middle station out of the circuit?” I asked. “It would save time if you did your talking direct.”

“Couldn’t think of it,” he replied. “These boys are out for practical instruction, and I’m bound to see that they get it—all of ’em.”

“Queer mix-up, isn’t it?” said I, with a laugh. “Wish I could have seen the proceedings at the other end of the line.”

“So do I,” said the signal lieutenant, joining in my laughter; “but I’m afraid this last message has spoiled the fun over there. Well, perhaps it had gone far enough.”

“‘B’ station has finished transmitting, sir,” announced the youth above us. “Cambridge has just made ‘O.K.’”

“All right,” answered Kenryck, lining his glasses upon the opposite terminal. “Now we’ll get some results.”

“All ready,” said I, pulling my pencil from behind my ear and adjusting my note-book. “Let it come.”

There was an interval of waiting, but at last the opposite tower began to talk, and, as Kenryck passed the words to me, I spread upon the page this remarkable entry:

“Told Boardman mistake. Says he knows better. Also, that we’re blanked liars. Orcutt very uneasy: growing insubordinate. Proposes to smash Boardman and policeman too. Tried to pitch loose tiles down upon their heads. I stopped him. Tower door locked on our side. Which prevents murder. Lieutenant better come over at once.”

This was cheeringly warlike. I burst into a roar of ill-timed mirth, while Kenryck laid down his glasses and strode back and forth upon the roof, giving profane utterance to his perplexity and paying no heed to the calling-off of the signals from the hill.

I read over my last entry in the book, and roared again, which caused Kenryck to pause in his tramping, glare at me, and snap out, “Can’t you let me think? I’ve got to call a halt in this business somehow—and there you sit, braying like a Himalayan donkey, and rattling the last idea out of me! How about those car-load lots of advice? Come, suggest something!”

“Heaven forbid!” said I, very earnestly. “This is your affair, and I’d never venture to hint that you’re not more than able to swing it alone. You’ve managed it beautifully so far as you’ve gone. But unless you want your corps to come in for a heap of free advertising in tomorrow’s papers, you’d do well to make another move—and a quick one.”

“I’ll call for a cab, and go over there myself,” announced Kenryck, with a vicious stamp upon the tiles, “and, by The Great Indian! when I do get there I’ll give everybody—”

“Now just hold hard for a minute, my son,” I put in at this point. “Consider things calmly. What’s the use of going to all that bother? Besides, it would cost you all of three large dollars—and you can’t draw mileage for that kind of travelling. There’s a much easier and less troublesome way out of it.” “Let’s have it then!” sputtered Kenryck. “You set yourself up to be a sort of lawyer, don’t you? Well, here’s an elegant chance to show your quality.”

“I am a lawyer,” said I, with unassuming dignity; “a young but very subtle one. And since it’s your wish that I should be of counsel in this case, why, I’ll settle your matter very speedily for you—and at something off from my usual rates. In fact, I’ll call it a charity job, and make no charge whatever. Now, pay attention to what I’m telling you. Here’s what you’ll do: order your sergeant to keep Orcutt quiet—if there’s no more convenient method, he may tip him over and sit on him—until I can—”

“Yes, he may!” put in Kenryck, in a highly aggravating tone. “Why, Orcutt weighs well up towards two hundred, besides being as full of temper as a razor blade—and the sergeant’s a little man!”

“Will you hear me out, you gibberer?” I inquired gently. “I don’t care how you manage it, but I want you to see to it that matters are kept in statu quo, until I come back. Understand? I’ll be gone only a minute.” And I gracefully lowered myself through the trap, and went rattling down the many flights of stairs that twist their way up through the tower’s dusky interior.

By rare good fortune I reached the ground floor without breakage of bones, and straightway made for the staff-room, where I hastily rummaged through my desk until I came upon a thin, black volume, emblazoned with the arms of the State, and inscribed in golden letters, “Militia Law.” Hastily running over its pages I found what I needed: and then, turning down the leaf, I thrust the book into my pocket, and started off for my second ascent into mid-air.

“Here you are, Ken.,” I cried, as I scrambled breathless out upon the roof. “I’ve brought you a bomb, and you can chuck it over into Cambridge as soon as you please.”

“You’ve been long enough in getting it,” was his ungracious response. “It wouldn’t take more than five or six of your ‘minutes’ to make an hour. Come, trot out your alleged bomb. Time’s precious.”

Withering Kenryck with a single expressive glance, I slowly drew out my little black book, opened it at the marked place, and said, “It would be serving you no more than properly, you ungrateful beggar, if I should draw out of this case altogether, and leave you up the tree! I may have taken a few seconds over a minute, but I’m willing to give plump odds that—going and coming—I’ve made a new regimental record in tower climbing. Well, here’s the medicine for your man Boardman—”

“You must excuse me, old chap,” said Kenryck hurriedly. “I dare say you tobogganed down on the banisters, and galloped up again on all-fours—but you certainly seemed a devil of a time in doing it.”

“Chapter three-sixty-seven, section one-nineteen, of the Revised Statutes,” I began, after receiving this graceful and ample apology, “would seem to furnish both the authority and the means for the abatement of this nuisance of which you make complaint. It runneth thuswise: ‘If any person interrupts or molests or insults, by abusive words or behavior, or obstructs any officer or soldier while on duty or at any parade or drill, he may be put immediately under guard and kept at the discretion of the commanding officer of the detachment until the duty is concluded: and such commanding officer may turn over such person to any police officer or constable of the city or town: and said police officer or constable shall detain him in custody for examination and trial: and any person found guilty of either of the offences enumerated in this section shall be punished by imprisonment in the jail or house of correction not exceeding six months, or by fine not exceeding one hundred dollars.’”

I flatter myself that I must have read this tangle of clauses with truly judicial emphasis and solemnity, for—when I came to the end of it, and demanded, “How’s that?”—Kenryck gave a yell of delight, and shouted, “Out at the plate, by Jupiter!” And the youth upon the turret displayed such violent symptoms of joy that I feared lest he should tumble from his dizzy perch.

“Oh! that’s too good to be true,” gasped Kenryck, after a prolonged paroxysm of laughter. “It fits like an old glove, too! Well, here goes for trying it on: I’ll send over the whole blessed section, though it’ll make an outrageously long message, and order the sergeant to spout it down at ’em from the tower. Jumping Jonah! won’t it do ’em up?” “It’s a beautiful bit of rhetoric,” said I, glancing through the passage again; “there are just twelve or’s in it—enough to fit out a ‘varsity eight and two single scullers. But I consider that it will answer your purpose very cleverly.”

I handed over the book, pointed out the all-powerful section, and sat down, more than well pleased with my share in the proceedings. Kenryck explored the interior of his braided blouse, discovered a cigar, and silently handed it to me—an action which proclaimed more eloquently than words his deep appreciation of the value of my services.

The transmission of this lengthy quotation from the law of the land took some little time. My cigar burned slowly on until half its original bulk had fallen away in ashes before we caught the first signal in reply to our communication. But the response, when finally it came, made us speedily forget the time we had spent in awaiting it.

“Stand by to register,” cautioned Kenryck, who for several minutes of silence had been sharply scanning the far-off tower. I hurriedly drew out my knife, and put a better point upon my pencil. “There she blows! Ready are you? Then score up this—

“‘Have quoted law. No go! Boardman says law may be dash-double-blanked, and men who made it may be blank-double-dashed. Policeman says law doesn’t concern him: his orders are to arrest on warrant. Big crowd gathered in street, guying us. Situation something awful. Orcutt in open mutiny. Will Lieutenant please come?’”

This was sufficiently definite, surely. Kenryck turned and stared blankly at me. Out of respect for his feelings I refrained from laughing.

“When you get that message from the hill,” he shouted to the man upon the turret, “make your acknowledgment signal, and then send over word that I’m coming. Can you do it alone?” And, upon receiving an affirmative answer, he made for the trap in the roof and disappeared.

I hastily stuffed the note-book into my pocket, and followed him. Down the shaking stairs we went, at a neck-or-nothing pace, until we landed at the bottom. And then Kenryck shot himself into the armorer’s room, and dropped into the chair before the telephone. Br-r-r-r! went the little bell. “Hello! Central? Give me Cambridge, please.” A pause. “This Cambridge? Well, will you give me the chief of police?” Another and a longer wait. “Hello! You the chief of Cambridge police? I’m Kenryck—Lieutenant Kenryck—commanding signal corps, third volunteer brigade. Got that? Yes! Well, I’ve sent a detail over to Memorial Hall, under duty orders. Now, my men are being interfered with and insulted by a citizen. There’s a curious sort of mistake.” Here he put in an elaborate explanation. “But the thing must be stopped, right away. I make formal complaint to you, under section—wait a second, please.”

I supplied him with chapter and verse for the text of his discourse, and he went on, “Under section one-nineteen, chapter three-sixty-seven, of the statutes. And I want you to take this citizen—yes, Boardman’s his name, but I don’t know the initials—into custody until I can come over to attend to him. What’s that? You’d like to look up the statute? All right—only kindly be quick about it.”

Then came a long interval. I ventured to say a word or two, but Kenryck turned upon me a warning scowl which reduced me at once to silence. “Hello!” he finally sang out, in answer to some communication over the wire. “You’ll see that your men take care of him? That’s good. Thanks! Hope we may be able to do as much for you, some day. I’ll be over later. Good day.”

He hung the receiver upon its hook, rang off, and rose from his seat, smiling like one who feels conscious of having done a clever thing. “It’s a poor law,” said he, “that can’t be worked both ways.”

“Yes, the law may be likened unto a double-edgÉd sword—and woe upon them that monkey therewith!” I replied. “And now what?”

“Now we’ll scale the tower again,” announced Kenryck, “to await developments. And, unless I’m wide in my guess, we’ll find things running our way when we get our next news from over the river.”

“You’re not going over, then?” I asked.

“No,” said Kenryck very decidedly; “not if I know myself. It would cost me all of three large dollars—and one can’t draw mileage for that sort of travelling.” By which I was led to believe that a part, at least, of my advice had not fallen upon stony ground.

“I shall let the police gather in my man,” he went on, as we panted up the last steep flight of stairs, “and then, after the siege has been raised, telephone over that I’ll not press the charge against him. How’ll that do?”

We climbed out, one after the other, upon the roof. Kenryck in a few words explained to his signalman what had been done, and then we sat down to await the final report. It was not a long waiting. In less than ten minutes the bit of color upon the Cambridge tower began its weird dance and, signal by signal, industriously sent across to us these tidings of comfort and joy:

“Patrol wagon just sailed up! Boardman bundled into it, speechless with rage. Policeman gone, too. Crowd has applauded operations and mostly dispersed. Orcutt manageable again—and coast clear.”

I shook hands with Kenryck. The youth upon the turret—who, without waiting for the hill station to repeat, had translated all this for his own benefit—waved his flag madly ‘round his head, and then hugged himself with delight. And we all three roared in chorus and loudly.

“We’ll let it go at that,” said Kenryck finally, “and call it a day’s work. Make your signal for closing stations, Millar, and pack up your kit. Here,” as he happened to look in my direction, “you can’t have those!”

“Oh, yes, I can,” said I, folding up and stowing away in my pocket the two leaves that I had just torn from the note-book. “Of course I can have ’em. Aren’t they in my own handwriting? And besides, they’ll be useful—labelled ‘Exhibits A and B’—when I’m retained to defend you against a suit for false imprisonment.”

But the suit has never been brought, and the stolen leaves lie undisturbed, pasted side by side in the big scrap-book which rests upon the top of the bookcase, up in The Battery. Ask Sam to hunt them out for you, when next you happen to find yourself up there.