"You might deliver the copy first," he suggested.
From the cable station Billy, still accompanied by his faithful
retainers, returned to the power-house. There he bade farewell to the
black brothers who had been his assistants, and upon one of them pressed
a sum of money.
As they parted, this one, as though giving the pass-word of a secret
society, chanted solemnly:
"_A huit heures juste_!"
And Billy clasped his hand and nodded.
At the office of the Royal Dutch West India Line Billy purchased a
ticket to New York and inquired were there many passengers.
"The ship is empty," said the agent.
"I am glad," said Billy, "for one of my assistants may come with me. He
also is being deported."
"You can have as many cabins as you want," said the agent. "We are so
sorry to see you go that we will try to make you feel you leave us on
your private yacht."
The next two hours Billy spent in seeking out those acquaintances from
whom he could borrow money. He found that by asking for it in
homoeopathic doses he was able to shame the foreign colony into loaning
him all of one hundred dollars.
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