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 Chapter 5

Multiple Choice (21) WARNING: CORRECT ANSWERS ARE IN THE SAME POSITION AND TAGGED WITH **.
YOU SHOULD RANDOMIZE THE LOCATION OF THE CORRECT ANSWERS IN YOUR EXAM.

1. When reading data from a file, the open function returns a(n) __________.
a. file object **
b. file name
c. file handle
d. file tuple

2. What function do you use to terminate a connection to a file?

a. close **
b. terminate
c. stop
d. disconnect

3. After all the lines of a file have been read, the readline method returns __________.
a. the empty string **
b. an empty tuple
c. the value None
d. a Throwback error

4. Python uses a(n) __________ as a temporary holding place for data to be written to disk.
a. buffer **
b. temp space
c. special memory location
d. list

5. When are the contents of the buffer written to disk?

a. When the buffer is full.
b. When the file is closed.
c. Both a & b. **
d. None of the above.

6. Which standard library module do you need to import in order to use the remove and rename
functions for files?
a. os **
b. file
c. path

© 2016 Pearson Education, Inc., Hoboken, NJ. All rights reserved.

 d. pickle

7. A(n) __________ is an unordered collection of items with no duplicates.

a. set **
b. file
c. dictionary
d. tuple

8. Elements of a set are delimited with __________.

a. { } **
b. [ ]
c. ( )
d. < >

9. The statement set1.union(set2) is:

a. the set containing the elements that are in either set1 and set2 without duplicates **
b. the set containing the elements that are in both set1 and set2
c. the set containing the elements that are in set1 with the elements of set2 removed
d. the set containing the elements that are in set2 with the elements of in set1 removed

10. The statement set1.intersection(set2) is:

a. the set containing the elements that are in both set1 and set2 **
b. the set containing the elements that are in either set1 and set2 without duplicates
c. the set containing the elements that are in set1 with the elements of set2 removed
d. the set containing the elements that are in set2 with the elements of in set1 removed

11. The statement set1.difference(set2) is:

a. the set containing the elements that are in set1 with the elements of set2 removed **
b. the set containing the elements that are in set2 with the elements of in set1 removed
c. the set containing the elements that are in both set1 and set2
d. the set containing the elements that are in either set1 and set2 without duplicates

12. An attempt to open a nonexistent file for input:

a. generates a runtime error **
b. generates a syntax error
c. creates an empty input file
d. none of the above

13. If a file that already exists is opened for writing:

a. the contents of the file will be erased **
b. the new data to be written will be appended to the end of the rile
c. a Throwback error will occur

© 2016 Pearson Education, Inc., Hoboken, NJ. All rights reserved.

 d. the user will be prompted for the action they wish to take

14. The default mode for opening a file is

a. reading **
b. writing
c. appending
d. deleting

15. To avoid a potential runtime error when opening files for reading or writing:
a. use the os.path.isfile function **
b. use the os.path.file.exists function
c. prompt the user for the action to take if the file does not exist
d. use the Boolean value try to check if the file exists

16. What is the output of the following Python statement?

print (set(“bookkeeper”))
a. {‘b’, ‘o’, ‘k’, ‘e’, ‘p’, ‘r’} **
b. {‘b’, ‘o’, ‘o’, ‘k’, ‘k’, ‘e’, ‘e’, ‘p’, ‘e’, ‘r’}
c. {‘o’, ‘k’, ‘e’}
d. {‘b’, ‘p’, ‘r’}

17. Each line of a CSV file is referred to as a(n) __________.

a. record **
b. tuple
c. field
d. comma field

18. Each piece of data in a CSV file record is referred to as a(n) __________.
a. field **
b. record
c. tuple
d. line

19. In a dictionary, a pair such such as “dog” : “rover” is called a(n) __________.
a. item **
b. pair
c. key
d. couple

20. Which file format stores data as a sequence of types that can only be access by special readers?
a. binary **
b. text

© 2016 Pearson Education, Inc., Hoboken, NJ. All rights reserved.

 c. CSV-formatted
d. all of the above

21. In order for Python to use functions to work with binary files, you must first import which
standard library module?
a. pickle **
b. os
c. binaries
d. osfile

True/False (23)

1. After all the lines of a file have been read, the readline method returns the value None.

Answer: false

2. You must close a file in order to guarantee that all data has been physically written to the disk.

Answer: true

3. The remove and rename functions cannot be used with open files.

Answer: true

4. Sets cannot contain lists.

Answer: true

5. Sets can contain other sets.

Answer: false

6. Elements of a set have no order.

Answer: true

7. Elements of a set may be duplicated.

Answer: false

8. Two sets are equal if they contain the same elements.

Answer: true

9. Elements if a set cannot be ordered.

Answer: true

© 2016 Pearson Education, Inc., Hoboken, NJ. All rights reserved.

10. Sets cannot be created with comprehension.

Answer: false

11. infile is a descriptive name bot not mandatory for file input usage.

Answer: true

12. An attempt to open a nonexistent file for input generates a syntax error.

Answer: false

13. If a file that already exists is opened for writing, the contents of the file will be erased.

Answer: true

14. The default mode for opening a file is writing.

Answer: false

15. Only strings can be written to text file.

Answer: true

16. The value of set() is the empty set.

Answer: true

17. The data in the fields of each record in a CSV file normally should be related.

Answer: true

18. In a dictionary, keys must be immutable objects.

Answer: true

19. It is common to create dictionaries from text files.

Answer: true

20. Dictionaries cannot have other dictionaries as values.

Answer: false

21. A dictionary is an ordered structure that can be sorted.

Answer: false

22. Dictionaries cannot be created with comprehension.

© 2016 Pearson Education, Inc., Hoboken, NJ. All rights reserved.

 Answer: false

23. Dictionary comprehension can be used to extract a subset of a dictionary.

Answer: true

Short Answer (11)

1. Complete the following function to open the file for reading and read the contents into a single
string named contents.

def readFile(file):

Answer:
infile = open(file, ‘r’)
contents = infile.read()

2. Write a Python statement to open a file called names for writing and assign it to a variable called
outfile.

Answer: outfile = open(names, ‘w’)

3. Write a Python statement to open a file called grades with the intent to add values to the end of
the file and assign it to a variable called outfile.

Answer: outfile = open(grades, ‘a’)

4. Write a single Python statement to convert the list [“spring”, “summer”, “fall”, “winter”] to a set
called seasons.

Answer: seasons = set([“spring”, “summer”, “fall”, “winter”])

5. Write a single Python statement to convert the tuple (“spring”, “summer”, “fall”, “winter”) to a
set called seasons.

Answer: seasons = set((“spring”, “summer”, “fall”, “winter”))

6. Why can’t elements of a set be indexed?

Answer: Elements of a set cannot be indexed have no order.

7. Explain the difference between a simple text file and a CSV-formatted file.

Answer: A simple text file has a single piece of data per line. A CSV-formatter file has several items
of data on each line with items separated by commas.

8. Write a Python statement to create an empty dictionary called dogs.

© 2016 Pearson Education, Inc., Hoboken, NJ. All rights reserved.

Answer: dogs = { }

9. Write a Python statement to create a copy of the dictionary called dogs into a new dictionary
called canines.

Answer: canines = dict(dogs)

10. Create a dictionary called dogs for the following data.

Eddie Jack Russell

Lassie Collie
Ping Beagle

Answer: dogs = {“Eddie” : “Jack Russell”, “Lassie” : “Collie”, “Ping” : “Beagle”}

11. Why can’t lists and sets serve as keys for dictionaries?

Answer: Because dictionary keys must be immutable objects. Lists and sets are mutable.

© 2016 Pearson Education, Inc., Hoboken, NJ. All rights reserved.

Other documents randomly have
different content
 Ashley starts. He has for a moment forgotten the catastrophe that
is about to overcome Cyrus Felton. He looks at his watch. “I am
overdue at the office,” he says. “But say, Barker, I had an
engagement to lunch with Felton and Miss Hathaway at 1 o’clock.
Can’t you put off the arrest until to-morrow?”
Barker shakes his head. “Not a minute,” he replies, emphatically.
“I have delayed long enough. If you intended to lunch with the fair
Miss Hathaway you will have an opportunity to do so just the same
and your presence will doubtless be appreciated in her tremendous
confusion. If you can’t come with me I will drop round at the office
and see you later.”
“All right, then. Do the job in as gentlemanly a manner as
possible,” grins Ashley.
Barker nods and walks rapidly toward the St. James, while Ashley
boards a Broadway car and rolls downtown.
The detective saunters up to the hotel office desk, writes the
name “Cyrus Felton” on a bit of cardboard, and, passing it to the
clerk, inquires: “Is that gentleman in?”
“No, sir; gone. Left an hour ago.”
“When will he return?”
“Well, that’s rather beyond me,” smiles the clerk. “Mr. Felton and a
lady sailed this morning for Cuba, on the City of Havana. I assume
that they did. They were driven from here to the pier.”
“What time does the steamer sail?” asks Barker, taking out his
watch.
“Eleven o’clock.”
“Too late!” grits the detective. It is even now five minutes past the
hour.
For a moment Barker permits his emotions to master his self-
possession, and he startles even the debonair clerk, accustomed as
the latter is to the strong terms sometimes employed by irritable
guests.
His feelings relieved in a measure by this unusual outbreak, the
detective sits down for a moment to consider the situation. Cyrus
Felton, then, is on his way to Cuba, doubtless to join his son. Mrs.
Harding, a valuable quantity in the mystery, is also headed for the
Antilles. Everything seems to point to Cuba. Barker picks up a
railroad timetable.
“Twelve m.; Florida express for Savannah, Jacksonville and Port
Tampa,” he reads.
“By the gods, I’ll do it!” he exclaims, as he starts for the street.
“First to the pier and make sure that the steamer has gone, and, if
so, then to Key West. I shall be only two hours behind the woman,
and I may reach Havana ahead of Felton. Hi, there, cabby!”
 CHAPTER XXVII.

THE CRUISER AMERICA.

“Jack, Mr. Ricker wants to see you,” is the information extended to

Ashley when he reaches the office. He reports at the room of the
city editor, and that gentleman informs him that he has not arrived
any too soon.
“I know that I am an hour or so behind, but I have been working
up a story that will make interesting reading,” Ashley explains.
“What’s up? My trial-trip assignment isn’t until 3, is it?”
“The start was set for 3, but it has been pushed forward to 1
o’clock,” says Ricker.
“It is about noon now. I may as well start for Brooklyn at once.
Good, snappy day for a run down the bay.
“Thunder!” says Ashley, when he reaches the street. “I had
forgotten that I was booked for a consolatory lunch with Miss
Hathaway at 1. I must send my regrets. Hang it, that will look as if I
was on to the arrest and was afraid to show up.”
But he sends the note, nevertheless, and feels better in mind. “If
that cold-blooded Barker only handles the matter properly,” he
thinks.
 Even as he reaches the Government dock Jack sees the pennant
of Capt. Meade run up to the main truck of the cruiser whose initial
trial in commission he is to report; he is none too soon for the gang-
plank is being withdrawn by half a score of blue-clad sailors as he
makes a flying leap and lands upon the deck of the newest and
fastest acquisition to Uncle Sam’s navy, the cruiser America.
Ere Jack has fully recovered his footing a youthful-appearing
midshipman brusquely demands his business.
It takes sometime before Jack is permitted to tread the sacred
precincts of the quarter-deck.
Capt. Meade is for the time being on the bridge, and, before
making the acquaintance of the commander, Jack proceeds to look
about the vessel.
The America has an air of being a ship made for getting there; an
up-to-date cruiser, without frills and furbelows, but distinctively with
an aspect of power. In the bright sunlight her snowy hull gleams like
polished marble. Her four great smokestacks relieve in a measure
the glaring effect of her big white bulk, while the polished brass and
steel with which all the decks are gird-ironed suggest, without the
presence of the murderous rapid-fire and revolving cannon stationed
about the decks, that the vessel is designed for war.
Ashley is soon engaged in the collection of information regarding
the America for the benefit of Hemisphere readers. The cruiser is,
the second officer informs him, of over 7,000 tons displacement. Her
battery comprises two six-inch, 40-caliber rapid-fire guns, one on
each side, forward of the superstructure; one eight-inch, 40-caliber
on the center line, abaft the superstructure; eight four-inch rapid-fire
guns in armored sponsons on the gundeck, four on each side; six-
pounder rapid-fire guns, four-pounders, one-pounders, Gatlings and
torpedo tubes galore.
“There are three vertical, triple-expansion engines, each set
driving a separate screw. The propellers are of manganese bronze
and the—”
 “Thank you, that is sufficient, I guess,” interrupts Jack. “The
Hemisphere readers will have a very good idea of the offensive and
defensive power of the America now, I am sure.”
The cruiser is slowly backing out into the stream. There is a big
throng on the pier to watch her departure, and a whole battery of
cameras are leveled as she finally swings around.
Now the ship becomes indeed instinct with life and is pointing
down the bay with a speed that augurs well for the shattering of
records. The whistles of all the craft in sight screech a salute and the
America’s hoarse whistle bellows responsively. Past the Battery and
Governor’s Island she speeds and then, fairly by quarantine, the
patent log is cast into the foamy wake and Capt. Meade rings “full
speed.”
The speed trial of the America has actually begun.
Jack is idly watching the rapidly receding island, when he becomes
aware by the slight bustle on the quarterdeck that the commander
of the America has returned from the bridge.
Capt. Meade, or “Fighting Dave,” as he is affectionately designated
in naval circles, is a man of about 60 years, but forty-five years of
his eventful career have been spent in the navy. He has worked
himself up, without political or social influence, from apprentice boy
to commander of the newest and best cruiser in the United States.
Jack has heard of “Fighting Dave,” and he scans the famous naval
officer with much interest. A figure slightly below the average, but
stockily built; a cheerful visage, face weather-beaten and innocent of
beard, surmounted by a shock of grizzly hair; eyes whose keen
expression might well belie the jovial look upon the face—this is
Capt. David Meade, U.S.N.
“Good face,” thinks Ashley, as he completes his scrutiny. “I should
like to know Capt. Meade personally, and I will.”
With his customary assurance and easy grace Ashley approaches
the autocrat of the quarterdeck and tenders his card.
 Capt. Meade glances at the pasteboard and then his keen eyes
wander to the newspaper man. Apparently the scrutiny is
satisfactory, for the bronzed face wrinkles into the most benign of
smiles and a tremendous fist grasps Jack’s right hand with a grip
which causes him to mentally question his ability to write up the trial
trip, or anything else, for a week at least.
“So you are from the Hemisphere?” Capt. Meade observes. “Well,
I like that paper and one of its representatives is heartily welcome to
my ship. In these days of sentiment and gush and peace and good-
will and brotherly love, and so forth, and so forth, it does my heart
good to get hold of a paper which isn’t afraid nor ashamed to speak
right out in meetin’ for the land we live in and the flag that floats
above it. But come below, Mr. Ashley, and we’ll clinch the sentiment
with a toast.” And the captain leads the way to his sumptuous
quarters, where the “splicing of the main brace” is accomplished
with alacrity and vigor by commander and newspaper man.
“Well, what do you think of the America?” asks the captain. “Did
you ever see anything like that on a vessel going over twenty knots
an hour?” setting his glass, filled to the brim, on the table. The
surface of the liquid is scarce more ruffled than that of a mirror. “No
sign of vibration, eh? She stands up as steady as a house.”
Jack is really surprised as he considers the circumstances. “From
what little I have seen of her I should say she is a remarkable craft
and one that Uncle Sam should feel proud of,” he replies.
“Remarkable? She’s a wonder! Why, she can walk away from
anything that floats—anything, big or little, torpedo catchers or
stilettos. I was on her when her first trial trip with the builders
aboard took place, and while she made twenty-five knots then, she
can do better. And she is going to do it to-day. Before we reach
Sandy Hook, young man, you can just put it down in your log-book
that the American flag is being borne over the water faster than any
other flag is likely to be carried for some time. One more splice and
then we’ll show you how the trick is done.”
 As the captain and his guest return to the quarterdeck of the
cruiser it is apparent that something unusual is attracting the
attention of officers and crew. Those who are not actively engaged
in the manipulation of the cruiser are gathered at the port rail
watching intently a steamer that is running parallel with the America,
about an eighth of a mile distant and about three lengths astern.
“What is it, Mr. Jones?” inquires Capt. Meade of the third officer,
who has just removed the binocular glasses from his eyes.
“A strange craft, sir, evidently a yacht which is apparently using
the America as a pacemaker. She pulled up astern of us fifteen
minutes ago, and has since been steadily gaining. Very fast, sir, I
should say, but she bears no ensign or pennant of any kind.”
Capt. Meade takes the glasses from the hands of his subaltern and
looks long and critically at the strange vessel. She is nearly the same
length as the America, though manifestly of considerable less
tonnage. And she is painted black, without a bit of gay color from
stem to stern to relieve the somberness of her hull.
Two black smokestacks, that appear unusually large and are set at
a decidedly rakish angle, are relieved by two narrow bands of white.
Capt. Meade with a seaman’s appreciative eye admires the shapely
lines of the yacht, but as his practiced vision notices the comparative
ease with which she is creeping up on the America his jovial face
becomes slightly troubled.
“Mr. Jones, have the log taken and work out our speed at once,”
he orders.
“Twenty-four and a quarter knots,” is the report.
For the next ten minutes the captain watches intently the strange
yacht. Her course is apparently shaped precisely parallel with that of
the America, and she still continues to gain, inch by inch, upon the
white cruiser. Now she is amidships, and now the two vessels are on
even terms.
 A puff of white steam rises abaft the stranger’s big smokestacks,
and a long shrill whistle salutes the cruiser.
’Tis a challenge for a race and it stirs Capt. Meade’s blood to fever
heat. He sends for the chief engineer.
“How is the machinery working?” he inquires.
“Finely, sir; not the sign of the slightest trouble anywhere.”
“Very well, sir; we will begin now to push her for a record. Put on
every ounce of steam she will stand, first with natural and afterward
with forced draught.”
The chief engineer salutes, and returns to his domain, and a
second later the hoarse whistle of the America sounds a defiant
acceptance of the challenge of the black yacht.
 CHAPTER XXVIII.

GREAT RACE TO THE OCEAN.

“By Jove! I had no idea the captain had so much sporting blood in
his veins,” murmurs Jack Ashley to himself, as he watches alternately
the challenging craft and the America. “It is a race fit for a king’s
delectation. I wonder whose yacht that is. I don’t remember seeing
her described in any of the papers, as she certainly would have been
if she were owned in New York. She is a big one, and a beauty, too.
And swift as the wind! But she doesn’t seem to be gaining now. No,
by Jupiter! We are gaining on her! The America has struck her gait
at last! But that’s a game craft there. She sticks to us like a leech
and refuses to be shaken off. Ah!”
The impromptu race has been in progress nearly half an hour, and
the two vessels, still less than an eighth of a mile apart, are
gradually drawing nearer each other. It is apparent that the yacht is
determined to continue the race at closer range, and has changed
her course for that purpose. Meanwhile the big cruiser has held to
her original course, and as the yacht straightens away for another
parallel run she has lost her former advantage and the two vessels
are practically on even terms.
It is a battle royal!
The white cruiser is cleaving the water with tremendous speed,
her bow sending the spray curling nearly as high as her armored
top, while the waves astern are churned by her triple screws into a
foam that extends as far as the eye can reach. The roaring of her
furnaces is audible above the whir of the machinery and the
whistling of the wind through the rigging. From her three great
smokestacks steadily increasing masses of inky smoke trail out
above the snowy wake.
All eyes on the deck of the cruiser are riveted on the yacht. For a
short space of time it looks as if both vessels might be propelled by
the same power, so even are their relative positions. Then, to the
practical eyes aboard the cruiser, it is apparent that the America is
drawing ahead, slowly to be sure, and imperceptibly to the untrained
eye, but still gaining.
A dozen yards, a quarter length, a half, a clear length ahead!
A hearty cheer is trembling on the lips of the crew of the cruiser,
but it is not uttered. The race is still unfinished, the victory still
hangs in the balance.
Like a thoroughbred that has been feeling her antagonist, the
yacht now seems to respond to some undeveloped power. The
cruiser gains no more—she is losing her advantage. The watchers on
the quarterdeck of the America can see the black prow lessening the
open water that separates the two craft. Now her bow laps the stern
of the America, but not for long. She is overhauling the cruiser faster
now, and in a few minutes—seconds, it seems to the anxious
spectators on the latter vessel—she is abeam of the America.
Out beyond Sandy Hook, where the billows flash into curving
crests like the manes of wild horses, a great fleet has gathered to
watch the race against time of the famous warship. Instead it is their
privilege to witness a race between two of the swiftest sea hounds
ever unleashed on the trail of the wind.
Through the impromptu armada the racers speed over the
toppling seas. A thousand glasses are upon them. What does it
mean? The white cruiser all may recognize, but her sable-hulled
consort, what is she? Straight out from staff and halyards the wind
whips the flag and ensigns of the America, but neither ensign nor
flag does the strange steamship show, and except for the great
white wake that trails behind her she might be a phantom ship,
another Flying Dutchman.
But ere the “reviewing stand” recovers from its first surprise, both
craft are miles away, black bow and white bow piling over hills of
foam like sleighs over snowdrifts and the surge that goes sobbing
along the glistening sides of the cruiser, inaudible above the roar of
her mighty engines, sounds like the weeping for a lost race.
For the black hull is bow and bow with the white, as, after a long
and critical survey of the yacht from the bridge, Capt. Meade
descends to the deck and summons the chief engineer.
“Everything is working finely, sir,” that official reports. “We are
steaming the extreme limit under natural draught. Shall we try the
forced now, sir?”
Capt. Meade hesitates and again gazes long at the yacht. The
latter has now a clear length of open water to the good and her
stern is presented squarely in view for the first time. The single word
Semiramis is inscribed thereon in gold letters. But no port is
designated.
“The Semiramis,” murmurs the commander of the America. “I
never heard of the craft before, but her name will be on every man’s
lips before long, I’ll wager.” Then to the chief engineer: “Yes, put on
the forced draught.”
Jack Ashley wipes the marine glasses with which the
thoughtfulness of the second officer has provided him, and turns
them again toward the afterdeck of the yacht.
“Well, may I be keelhauled, or some other equally condign
nautical punishment,” he mutters, after a long look. “If that isn’t
Louise Hathaway, seated in a steamer chair, then do my optics play
me strange pranks. But what is she doing on the deck of that yacht?
She appears to be alone; at least there is no other lady passenger
on deck. Ah, there is Mr. Felton. So Barker was too late. Felton and
Miss Hathaway must be the guests of the gay yachtsman who is
making ducks and drakes of the America on her trial trip.
“Thunder and Mars!” cries the newspaper man, nearly dropping
the glasses to the deck. “Phillip Van Zandt! He is apparently the
owner of the yacht. Good heavens! What irony of fate brings
together those two participants in the Raymond tragedy. For Van
Zandt is Ernest Stanley, I will swear it.
“Well, as the novelists say, the plot thickens. How did Van Zandt
ingratiate himself into the good graces of Cyrus Felton? It must have
been recently, for Miss Hathaway spoke as if they had no friends in
the city. Hang it all! I don’t just fancy the situation. How assiduously
he is waiting upon her now! Heigho, Jack! I think I would as soon
have reported this trial trip from the deck of the Semiramis.” At
which thought Ashley impatiently pitches over the rail the remains of
one of Capt. Meade’s favorite brand of cigars.
The black plumes of smoke that pour from the chimneys of the
America are becoming denser and larger. The forced draught is now
fully in operation, and in the boiler-rooms the half-naked stokers
ceaselessly feed the greedy fires.
The cruiser has reached the limit of her speed.
How is it with the Semiramis?
For a time the America seems to hold her own and even to gain
slightly. But the advantage is transitory. The yacht still apparently
has speed in reserve. Once more she leaps forward and not again is
opportunity afforded the America’s people to view her gleaming
sides.
For another hour both vessels are driven at their highest speed.
The Semiramis continues to gain upon the America, and is now
nearly a quarter of a mile ahead.
Half an hour later Capt. Meade sees a flag run up to the masthead
of the vanishing yacht. He gives an order and the cruiser’s forward
gun booms a salute.
 “What do you make of that ensign, Mr. Smith?” inquires the
commander, turning to the second officer.
“A strange flag, sir, not the flag of any nation that I recall,” is the
reply.
“Ah, I have it,” suddenly exclaims the captain. “Well, she is a great
craft and magnificently handled. The America made a gallant fight
against odds and lost; but you can say, Mr. Ashley,” as that individual
ascends the steps to the bridge, “that the America has broken all
records in the navies of the world, and for two consecutive hours
has exceeded twenty-seven knots an hour. Yonder craft has beaten
that time, but she has not the heavy armament of the America.”
“What was the ensign she ran up a moment ago, captain?” Ashley
asks.
“That, sir,” replies Capt. Meade, “was the flag of Cuba Libre, the
emblem of the sometime republic of the Antilles!”
 CHAPTER XXIX.

ASHLEY LAGS SUPERFLUOUS.

“If she is the property of the revolutionists, gentlemen, with her

phenomenal speed she can run the strictest blockade the Spaniards
can institute, can land arms, ammunition and re-enforcements at
will, and practically snap her fingers at the whole Spanish navy.”
The speaker is Capt. Meade and the place the officers’ mess table
on board the America. Naturally the one topic of conversation is the
strange yacht and her remarkable performance.
“Yes,” continues the captain, impressively, “I believe that the result
of the insurrection may hang on the fate of that steamer. My
sympathies as an individual, I do not hesitate to say, are with the
rebels. But my duty as an officer impels me to notify the War
Department of the departure of the Semiramis and the flaunting of
the Cuban flag. However, I hardly think the warning will harm her,
even if it should set the entire Spanish navy in pursuit.”
“Do you think the yacht is bound for Cuba now?” inquires Ashley,
with an unpleasant sensation in the vicinity of the fifth rib.
“Certainly. She is apparently coaled and equipped for a long
voyage. She set low enough in the water to carry quite a cargo, too.
Oh, yes; she is off for the West Indies sure enough.”
 Ashley relapses into a reverie and the burden of his thoughts is
something like this: “Louise Hathaway, Cyrus Felton and this
mysterious Van Zandt on the same steamer and bound for Cuba!
How and why?” He mechanically pulls at his cigar. Finally, as the
signal for breaking up of the dinner party is given by the
commander, he murmurs: “What will John Barker say?”
The America has completed her run; and now, her officers and the
naval experts aboard having expressed their satisfaction with her
performance, the cruiser is steaming back to her dock. The shrill
salutes of the many steam craft in the harbor greet the ears of
Ashley as he accompanies the officers to the deck. The sun is
shining in a haze of cold gray. The March air, a few hours ago so
clear and warm, is dull and marrow-piercing. Ashley shivers and
buttons his coat more closely about him.
A few moments more, and the cruiser is slowing down preparatory
to making her pier, and Jack seeks Capt. Meade to express his
thanks. The latter shakes his hand cordially and remarks: “Better
come on our next cruise, my boy; we may have another try at the
black yacht. The navy expert says it was rumored in official circles
that if this trial was satisfactory the America is to be ordered
immediately to Cuba to protect American interests. Good news, if
true, eh?”
Ashley allows that if the captain says it is good news, good news it
certainly must be; and a half-defined hope is forming in his mind as
he steps once more on terra firma.
“After I turn in my story on the trial trip I shall proceed to hunt up
some possible light on the latest twist in the Hathaway tangle,” he
meditates, as he sets his face toward the lights of Gotham town.
“Felton and Miss Hathaway were booked to sail on the City of Callao
on Saturday; yet I discover them to-day headed southward on the
Semiramis. Miss Hathaway must have left some explanation, and it is
barely possible that Barker may know something about the sudden
departure. I should not be a particle surprised if John, too, were
aboard the Semiramis. Nothing will ever surprise me again. But if
Barker got left I shall probably find him sitting on the steps of the
Hemisphere office, in a state of mind bordering on the profane.”
But fate decrees that many days shall elapse ere the detective and
his newspaper friend again clasp each other by the hand; days big
with exciting events that the serene Ashley dreams not of as he
saunters down Newspaper Row.
From his box in the office Ashley extracts a letter, evidently hastily
written and sealed. The address is in Barker’s handwriting, and
Ashley tears it open. He reads:

“My Dear Ashley: I start for Cuba at 12 o’clock via Key

West. Write this just before the train starts. Felton has
eluded me—thanks to your infernal French ball—and sailed
for Cuba on City of Havana at 11 o’clock. Don’t know
whether he got wind of contemplated arrest or not. If I have
good luck at Key West will be in H. as soon as he. May trail
him to the son and bag both at once. In any event, do not
intend to lose sight of him again till he is safely landed in
Vermont. I may run across your Mrs. Harding, and if I do will
try my luck at making her tell what she knows of young
Felton, on threat of exposing her as a Spanish spy. Good
scheme, eh? Must close, train starting; will write from Cuba.
Hastily,
“Barker.”

“So Cuba is to be the scene of the next act of the Raymond

tragedy,” Jack thinks. “How suddenly all the characters have betaken
themselves to the southern isle, and how events have crowded on
each other the last day or two! First, news that young Felton is in
Cuba; then appear Cyrus Felton and Louise Hathaway in the city;
then the mysterious woman of the Raymond hotel, and the stranger
of the mountain gorge—and all of these are at this moment en route
to Cuba. Only Derrick Ames and Helen Hathaway remain to be
accounted for, and if Barker’s theory is correct, and they, too, are in
Cuba, what a situation and what a complication! I must be there at
the finish. The paper really needs a war correspondent in the ever-
faithful isle, and I’ve half a mind to ask for the assignment.”
From his desk Ashley takes a bulky package of manuscript,
glances through it, and with a sigh replaces it within an inner
compartment. “The Raymond mystery story, the newspaper beat of
the year,” is not to be used yet.
But the account of the trial trip of the America must be written,
and soon the sheaves of yellow paper are being rapidly covered by
Jack’s flying pen.
At last it is finished, and with a grunt of satisfaction Jack arranges
the scattered sheets and proceeds to the desk of the city editor.
“Ah, Ashley,” remarks that dignitary, glancing at the manuscript
and without raising his eyes; “trial trip was a success, wasn’t it? Yes;
well, I have a little something here that I wish you would look up.
You have done so much Cuban stuff lately that you are more familiar
with the ground than any other man on the staff. The Washington
wire states that a vessel, the Isabel, that was to have sailed from
here to-day, has been detained at her moorings, foot of Twenty-third
Street. She is suspected of having arms and ammunition for the
Cuban rebels on board. The information was filed by the Spanish
minister. Just look up the local end of the story, find out who fitted
out the steamer, where she was ostensibly to clear for, etc. You had
better see your filibuster friend, Manada. He might give you
something on it.”
“Blast Cuba!” mutters Jack, as he leaves the office. “Everything is
Cuba now. Talk about Tantalus! His case wasn’t a marker to mine.
Here are all the characters in a drama in which I am interested gone
to Cuba, while I lag superfluous on the stage, doomed to write up
stuff about the confounded island and its affairs at long range.
Besides, I haven’t fairly got back my land legs, and now I must jaunt
up the North River two or three miles. Well, there is no use kicking, I
suppose. Guess I will look up Don Manada first, though.”
 Ashley’s annoyance dissipates rapidly, however, and he has
recovered his customary serenity when he tenders his card to the
clerk at the Fifth Avenue Hotel, to be taken to Don Manada’s rooms.
“Don Manada has left, sir” the clerk tells him. “He had his effects
removed early this morning and stated that he might not return for
some months.”
“Where has he gone, do you know?”
“To Cuba, I think.”
Jack turns away. “To Cuba, of course. Everybody with whom I
have business to-day has gone to Cuba. If that filibustering vessel,
the Isabel, has not eluded the officers and sailed for Cuba by the
time I reach her wharf, I shall be mightily surprised. No; I have
decided to be surprised at nothing hereafter. The Isabel! There’s
another coincidence—the first name of Mrs. Harding or Mrs.
Winthrop or whatever it is—the woman of the Raymond Hotel. Well,
here goes for the Isabel.”
It is cold, foggy, dark and altogether disagreeable as Jack alights
from the car at the foot of Twenty-third Street and picks his way
down the long wharf to where he is informed the detained steamer
is docked. She is still there; he sees her smokestacks and masts
outlined against the sky. A single lantern is alight on the vessel, but
the gang-plank has been hauled in.
“Steamer ahoy!” Ashley calls, and after several repetitions of the
hail a gruff voice sounds from the gloom in the vicinity of the
lantern.
“Ashore, there! What do you want?”
“Is this the Isabel?”
“Yes,” is the brief reply.
“Well, I want to talk with you a moment. Can’t you run out a plank
and hold that lantern nearer, so I can see to come aboard? I am
from the Hemisphere.”
 There is a moment’s hesitation and then the lantern approaches
the steamer’s side and a plank is extended to the pier.
“Now, all I want to find out is about the alleged seizure of the
vessel,” begins Jack, thrusting a cigar into the fist that releases the
lantern.
“There ain’t much to say,” is the reply. “I am a United States
deputy marshal and was placed in charge of the vessel this noon.
Whether her cargo contains arms and ammunition I can’t say for
sure, as she is not to be searched till to-morrow, but from the
remarks dropped by some of the crew I’ll bet a hat the cargo has
been taken off. One of the crew was considerably under the weather
when I came aboard and I gathered from his talk that some of the
Isabel’s cargo was shifted to another steamer, a long, black craft,
some time after midnight or early this morning.”
“What was the name of the other steamer?” inquires Ashley, a
sudden suspicion entering his mind.
“Blessed if I know,” replies the deputy marshal.
“The Semiramis, I’ll wager $4 to a nickel,” mutters Ashley, as he
thanks the marshal and goes ashore.
 CHAPTER XXX.

ON TO FAIR CUBA.

“There are only two bits of evidence needed to complete my moral

conviction that I am the only person connected with the Raymond
tragedy who is not in Cuba or on his way thither,” remarks Ashley,
loquitur, as he boards a cross-town car. “One is the assurance that
Cyrus Felton and Miss Hathaway have left the St. James Hotel with
no intention of an immediate return; the other, the knowledge that
Phillip Van Zandt has closed his quarters in the Wyoming flats for an
indefinite period. I believe I will try the St. James first.”
He does. The clerk smiles benignly upon him when he inquires for
the Vermonters. “Gone, Jack; but you were not forgotten,” he says.
“The day clerk turned this over to me,” extracting a note from the
letter rack.
“Thank you, Ed,” acknowledges Ashley. He tears open the note
and reads:

“Dear Mr. Ashley: I regret very much that circumstances

have made it necessary to postpone indefinitely the luncheon
for this afternoon at 1, to which I had looked forward with
much pleasure. We have just learned that in order to reach
Cuba we must sail on the City of Havana, which leaves New
 York at 11 o’clock to-day. With many thanks for your
kindnesses, believe me, sincerely yours,
Louise Hathaway.”

“Far from enlightening me, this note only plunges me deeper in

the fog,” thinks Ashley, sniffing the faint odor of violet that clings to
the dainty stationery. “She asserts here that she is going to Cuba on
the City of Havana, yet I discover her aboard the Semiramis. At any
rate they have gone to Cuba, and there is no particular reason for
my visiting Van Zandt’s apartments. It is getting late, anyway, and I
believe I will return to the office. If Ricker is in a good-humored
mood I will attempt to convince him that the only feature which the
paper at present lacks is a live man at Havana who can tell the
difference between an overwhelming Spanish or Cuban victory and a
fifth-rate scrimmage that a dozen New York policemen could quell in
ten minutes.”
Ashley swings himself upon a Broadway car and lapses into a
meditation. “How the deuce do Miss Hathaway and Cyrus Felton
come to be aboard the Semiramis? And if Ernest Stanley is Phillip
Van Zandt, where did he get the money to own such a yacht? Forty
or fifty thousand dollars of Raymond National Bank funds wouldn’t
pay for one side of the Semiramis. But it may not be his yacht. I
have simply assumed so because he looked as if he owned the
ocean as well. Good gracious, I should be inclined to regard Miss
Hathaway’s disappearance as a clear case of abduction but for the
fact that the fair Louise appeared entirely satisfied with her
surroundings when I focused the America’s glasses upon her
graceful self. I am beginning to believe that I am clear off my
reckoning on Van Zandt. The Semiramis may be owned by the
Cubans and he may simply be one of the leaders of the expedition.
And he may not be Ernest Stanley at all, although I think—hang it! I
don’t know what I think. I shall quit thinking from now on. It is too
hard work.”
 Much relieved by this determination, Ashley sits at his desk, lights
his briar and dashes off a short sketch of the detained filibustering
vessel. This he tosses over to the night-desk men, and strolls into
the city editor’s den.
“When you are at leisure, Mr. Ricker, I should like to bore you for
five or ten minutes,” he announces.
“I am at leisure now, Jack. Sit down. It has been a rather light
night and there is an unusual lull just at present. What is on your
mind?”
“It is something like half a dozen years since I began work on the
paper, is it not?”
“Just about, my son.”
“And during that time I have never kicked on an assignment or
asked for any particular job.”
“Yes; if I recollect rightly, that is about the size of it,” remarks
Ricker dryly. “Now, what can I do for you?”
“I should like the assignment of war correspondent at Havana.”
The city editor is silent for a moment.
“I am sorry you did not speak of this Havana business before,” he
says, encircling the pastepot with a ring of smoke. “Unfortunately I
have mapped out two or three months’ work for you at a place a
good many miles from the capital of Cuba.”
Ashley’s face does not reveal the disappointment he feels.
“All right, Mr. Ricker, I have no kick coming. I will break another
one of my rules and ask what the assignment is before I have been
notified of it.”
“It is an important mission, my son, and the selection of the man
to fill the place does not come within my department. But as a good
man was needed I urged the desirability of putting you on the job.”
“You are very kind,” murmurs Ashley.
 “I intended to communicate to you his wishes to-night,” resumes
Ricker. “In fact, I received the assignment for you an hour ago and
you would have found it in your box in the morning.” The city editor
tosses over a yellow envelope and Ashley finds therein the brief
notification:
“Beginning March 18, Mr. Ashley will enter upon the duties as war
correspondent at Santiago de Cuba.”
Ashley looks up and catches the indulgent smile of his chief.
“Ricker, you’re a jewel,” he says, warmly, extending his hand. The
friendship between the two men has long since leveled the wall of
official dignity.
“I had no idea you wanted the job,” smiles the city editor.
“Until to-day I had no desire to visit Cuba,” replies Ashley. “But at
present I want to go the worst way—or the best way. And my wish
to reach Cuban soil is not greatly influenced by personal reasons,
either. I expect some day to turn over to you a story that will cover a
good share of the first page and just now the trail is winding under
the flags of three nations—Spain, Cuba and the United States. But
why Santiago, instead of Havana?”
“For the reason that, as you may see by a look over to-night’s
telegrams, the eastern province of Cuba is likely to be the principal
theater of the struggle for independence. You know the sort of stuff
we want. Statements of fact, above all. You may have some difficulty
in getting us the facts by wire, as the government controls the
cables; but there are the mails, and in addition to the usual grind
you might send a two or three column chatty letter every fortnight
or so that would be interesting reading. Spend all the money that is
necessary. Get right out into the fighting; there isn’t one chance in a
million of your being hurt. Above all, send us facts. We cannot pay
too much for facts.”
“Have you considered how I am to reach Santiago? You know
there are no steamer lines running to the island.”
 “That has been arranged. The bulletin was received early this
evening that the new cruiser America had been ordered to Santiago.
The managing editor used his influence, and permission to send a
representative on the vessel has kindly been granted. There is some
value in being on the right side of an administration. The cruiser
sails the day after to-morrow, the 18th.”
Ashley and Ricker soon complete their talk and Jack starts for
home in a complacent condition of mind. Arriving at his rooms he
slips into a dressing-gown and stretches himself in an easy-chair for
a smoke-lined night-cap, and as the rings curl upward he sees in
fancy the various actors in the Raymond drama passing in review
before a tropical background of hazy blue hills and palm-shaded
groves.
Suddenly he utters an exclamation: “Jupiter! How is Barker to get
to Cuba? He must have shot off to Key West without reading the
morning paper, and he probably was not aware that there are no
steamers running from Key West any more than from New York or
other ports. When he does learn that fact his remarks will not be fit
for publication. Well, I suppose, he will get there somehow, even if
he has to swim. But in all probability I shall reach the island before
him.
“The trail is plain. It leads to Cuba, and somewhere in the gem of
the Antilles the threads of the Raymond murder mystery will touch
and cross and interweave.”
 CHAPTER XXXI.

THE FLAG OF CUBA.

“We shall have a race, Don Manada—a battle royal. The new
United States cruiser America has just steamed out of the bay ahead
of us and we shall soon be abreast of her.”
“A race, Senor Van Zandt? Santissimo! We shall have racing
enough before we get to Cuba without challenging unsuspicious
warships and courting investigation.”
Van Zandt laughs at the Cuban gentleman’s anxious tones. “I told
you, my friend, that once on the high seas nothing short of a cannon
ball can overhaul the Semiramis. Come on deck in an hour, senor,
and I will prove to you what may now seem an idle boast.”
For excellent reasons Manada is keeping in the background as
much as possible. But he finds the luxurious cabin of the Semiramis
much to his liking, and he smokes and dreams of “Cuba Libre” while
the Semiramis steams down the bay and out upon the bosom of the
Atlantic, and when he goes on deck, wrapped in the long semi-
military cloak which effectually conceals his person, the sight which
greets his eyes fills him with apprehension, though challenging his
liveliest interest.
The battle of steam is well under way. The America is less than a
dozen lengths astern and presents a beautiful sight to the people on
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